


Realities, Unfurling

by ebbet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 2000s, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexuality, Background Poly, Bisexuality, Black Hermione Granger, Desi Harry Potter, Developing Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy Free from Azkaban, Draco Malfoy is Clueless About Muggle Things, E-mail, Ensemble Cast, Epistolary, F/F, F/M, Fainting, Found Families, Friendship, Gender Identity, Genderqueer, H/D Sex Fair 2020, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry Potter Thinks Draco Malfoy is Up to Something, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, LGBTQ Character of Color, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lists, M/M, Marriage Contracts, Mild Blood, Multi, Nonbinary Harry Potter, Not Britpicked, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Other, Post-Hogwarts, Queer Culture, Queer Themes, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Rotating Narrators, Sexual Identity, Slow Burn, if canon doesn't spark joy throw it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 45,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26702725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbet/pseuds/ebbet
Summary: Draco Malfoy is released from Azkaban into a changed world.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood, Neville Longbottom/Blaise Zabini, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Susan Bones/Astoria Greengrass
Comments: 150
Kudos: 209
Collections: 2020 Harry/Draco Sex Fair





	1. Signed, Hesperide Buttonwillow

**Author's Note:**

> For Prompt #[42](https://docs.google.com/document/d/12_5f6f0xUXhqtWfMlhXRyA8kDC3KGShN3oa_IOD12DY/edit#).
> 
> This has a lot of formatting and/or Unicode characters, which might present challenges for screen readers. I'd love to make it available as a podfic, so if anyone's interested in this, let me know once reveals have happened!
> 
> Apologies to the botanists, social workers, teachers, solicitors, bakers, ice cream makers, and anyone else whose career I’ve butchered in the making of this fic. 
> 
> A thousand thank yous to my betas (A, E, E, G), who tried to wrangle my grammar, especially my questionable approach to capitalization (on my head be it), and to the folks running this fest, who let me have a lot of extra time because I'm incapable of writing something that's not a slow burn but life has other demands. Thank you. ♡

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**Sociatrix Case Report**  
1 May 2006 • 2:38 pm 

╰━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╯

 **Client Name:** Draco Malfoy  
**Participant(s):** Draco Malfoy, Otto Pembroke, Hesperide Buttonwillow  
**Method:** In Person  
**Location:** Buchanness Lighthouse DMLE Reintegration Facility, Boddam, Scotland  
**Status:** Completed

Meeting with Draco Malfoy on the date of his release from Azkaban. Auror Otto Pembroke, who will be monitoring the client’s progress from the DMLE perspective, also present. 

The client appeared alert and watchful but remained silent throughout the meeting. 

Reviewed plans for the client’s probation, including the following:

 **I. Planned Living Arrangement:** Relative (Andromeda Tonks, aunt; father Lucius Abraxas Malfoy is serving the remainder of his fifty-three year sentence in Azkaban; mother Narcissa Black Malfoy last heard of in France, but the Société de police magique have reported nothing new to DMLE as OP reported during this meeting, the client made no reaction to this statement; remind OP that he should notify me of these things in advance of our three-way meetings) 

Andromeda Tonks’ address: The Howes, Otterburn, Newcastle upon Tyne. Andromeda Tonks and the client will be the only persons in residence. Premises secured by Aurors throughout April with wards holding until 2026 or when deemed appropriate to be removed; impenetrable to magical means of transportation specifically carried out by the client independently; owls unable to reach the client at this address unless addressed care of Andromeda Tonks; accessible via Floo Network for those on an approved list (currently: OP, Andromeda Tonks, myself, Neville Longbottom, Remus Lupin; in an emergency, any auror or sociatrix may use Probationary Protocol 45a to gain immediate access to the residence). 

These conditions listed by OP to the client, who appeared uninterested. His only comment was “Wolfboy?” after the name Remus Lupin was stated. I stated that this slur was not acceptable, at which the client muttered something that sounded like “Squib,” but I was unable to hear it, then shrugged and began staring out the window.

 **II. Education:** Incomplete 7th year from Hogwarts; client raised an eyebrow at my suggestion of vocational training but did not remove his gaze from the ocean one can see out the window of this really quite grim little office they have here. 

**III. Employment:** no employment suggested at present, as community service takes precedent; client has no need of MoM financial support, even given restitutions of Malfoy family inheritance, enough remains for the client to be unemployed for the rest of his life, which was something I said neither the Sociatrix nor the rest of the MoM would look favorably upon because he would need to make an effort to reintegrate into wizarding society. Client continued to look out the window. 

**IV. Community Service:** paired with Neville Longbottom (PhDB, University of Auckland), wizarding hero who has mentored several former blood purists through their community service stints and is currently carrying out a study in magical plants in Northumberland, thus convenient for Dr. Longbottom to pick up the client in Otterburn each morning as the client cannot use magical means of transportation without supervision. Wanted to review the contents of the referral packet given to Dr. Longbottom, but OP growled and said “We’ve already been through it three times, we know what he’s guilty of,” so I did not push my luck on that front. However, the client already knew of this plan, made no noise, continued to look out window. 

**V. Length of Probation Expectation** (of course, this is if all proceeds as planned and the client faces no recidivism):

  1. 6 months without wand
  2. 250 hours of community service
  3. Completion of Respecting the Non-Magical World and Anti-Sanguinem Castitate MoM curriculum
  4. 1 year of monthly meetings with Sociatrix and DMLE
  5. 3 years supervised probation under Sociatrix and DMLE
  6. Release from probation after year 3. 



Client nodded after each of the steps stated in section V, but did not make any expression of emotion or further statement. He nodded goodbye when he and OP prepared to Disapparate to the Tonks residence. 

Consider mental health evaluation. Revisit educational opportunities or vocational training possibilities (internships?) in a few weeks. Need to follow up with the people running those courses. 

Follow up meeting with client, Andromeda Tonks, and myself on May 8, 2006 at 1:00 pm at Andromeda Tonks’ residence, The Howes, Otterburn, Newcastle upon Tyne (accessible via Floo Network). Meeting between myself and Neville Longbottom on May 2, 2006 at 9:30 am at Black Middes Bastle House (accessible via Floo Network). 

_Signed, Hesperide Buttonwillow_  
_3rd Order of Zelig Sociatrix_

╭━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╮

**Vigilantia Confidens**

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	2. Breaking Barriers, Breaking Hearts

_May 2 — London._

On the eve of the eighth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, the Hero of the Wizarding World, Harry James Potter, agreed to sit down with _Witch Weekly_ at buzzy new eatery Larunda. Over chicken salad, Potter divulged their latest plans for the latest paradigm shift in the wizarding world. 

Which, of course, Potter immediately objected to. With an irritated tear of the delicious French bread, Potter corrected me—magical world, readers! To keep smashing that patriarchy, check out the sidebar feature!—about the future of Conciliatio, the charity they established to break down prejudices: “We’ve been working largely with students at Hogwarts and with young people across the magical world from a variety of transitory locations, so our next step isn’t exactly a paradigm shift, it’s more of a, uh,” and here, dear readers, Potter blushed and held out their hands in a gesture of adorably flustered confusion, “Uh, anyway, we’re getting a building in Diagon Alley.” 

You heard it here first—Conciliatio is coming to Diagon Alley in June 2006! Potter says the location will allow them to offer more services for the organization, which fights for an end to discrimination based on gender, sexual identity, heritage, species, and/or disability in the magical world. 

“We’ve been looking at several spaces in Diagon for a few years, but recently, Luna—” that is, Luna Lovegood, editor of the _Quibbler_ and longtime girlfriend of Quidditch star (and Potter’s ex) Ginny Weasley, “found this amazing place that used to be an apothecary and it has the best windows.” Potter pauses, roll halfway to their mouth, and stares into the distance. “I think they’re like … uh, well, in the non-magical world they’re called bay windows, but I don’t know if there’s a magical word for them.” 

Growing up in a non-magical household with abusive relatives—who treated Potter’s early magical accidents as dangerous—has given Potter a seemingly endless well of compassion for anyone outside the magical “mainstream.” 

“I used to struggle with a lot of anger,” Potter reveals, “Especially when I realized I had to kill Voldemort and when I found out I was a Horcrux. But I’ve been in therapy for years. Which kinda helps. But I think getting older helped a lot, too. And being able to change the shitty parts of the world—or to try, anyway—definitely also helps.” 

Here, Potter’s self-deprecating laugh doesn’t erase the thousands of Galleons from their personal fortune or hours of labor they’ve poured into promoting equality since coming out as nonbinary and queer in 1998. _Quibbler_ might have scooped us on the original announcement, but _WW_ readers can always rely on us to ask the question on every magician’s lips: Is Potter single? 

“Oh, very single,” Potter says with a cheerful smile. “I’m really good at third-wheeling.” Magical readers take note: this is a reference to a bicycle, a non-magical two-wheeled human-powered vehicle—a third wheel isn’t necessary! Don’t worry, Harry, we think you’re totally necessary! 

Potter takes a sip of the lemongrass-flavored water with a rueful expression. “I’ve kind of given up, honestly. It’s really hard to meet people like, normally, and I don’t know if I’d want to subject anyone else to this level of public scrutiny. I’d love to find a partner, but that doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards right now. I have too much shit to do, anyway.” 

Potter pulled a hair tie off their wrist and pulled their hair into a messy bun. “Gotta get to work,” they said with a wink as we finished our meal. We’ll be right behind you in the fight for equality, Harry! 

⊱ ────── {⋆ **Exceed Expectations!** ⋆} ────── ⊰ 

_So you say wizarding world? Try magical world, says Potter. These inclusive terms are gaining more traction and you don’t want to get left behind. So grab your quill and take note!_

  * Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry ⇢ “Just Hogwarts!” beams Audrey Oliver-Winger, the current Head of School. “Potter agitated for the end of gender-segregated dormitories in 1998, and the second part of the name was dropped around the same time.”
  * House Elf ⇢ Elf 
  * Muggle (or the other M-word, yikes) ⇢ Person of Non-Magical Heritage (Ponmh, or “Pawn-m”); plural: People of Non-Magical Heritage
  * _But isn’t “non-magical” an insult?_ “We’re still struggling with magical ability as the defining structure and characteristic of our world,” says Potter, “We privilege magic over other means of accomplishment or invention—which isn’t fair or good. Understanding and tolerance between our worlds used to exist. It’s something Conciliatio is hoping to explore in the coming years, but magical society has enough problems to tackle right now!”
  * Muggle World ⇢ Non-Magical World 
  * Undead ⇢ Living Dead 
  * Witch, Wizard ⇢ Magic user, magician 
    * “Some people are (re-)claiming witch or wizard in relation to type of magic or style of magic use,” Dr. Hermione Granger, Professor at the London Institute of Magical Studies, wrote _WW_ via owl, “Witch might be the preferred title of someone who uses more intuitive forms of magic, while wizard might be the chosen term for someone who depends on book-learning or wands. Other magic-related terms include sorcerer, potioneer, sibyl, but there are thousands of Preferred Magical Designations (PMD) being recovered and created in the wake of the Wizarding War.” _Thanks, Dr. G!_
  * Wizarding World ⇢ Magical World



_⊱ Get Woke!⊰_

_Avoid using vampire, werewolf, or any other species- or condition-based identity as an insult. “You can’t think of anything more creative?” Potter asks with a devious grin. We weren’t all Gryffindors, Harry!_

⊱ ────── {⋆ **WW** ⋆} ────── ⊰ 


	3. “Worse than bubotuber pus,” said Andromeda.

“Well, I know it’s not what you’re used to—”

“The noted creature comforts of Azkaban?”

Andromeda Tonks ran her hand down a worn, quilted pillowcase and considered her nephew. He stood with his arms crossed in the doorway, a scowl on his face that was so like his mother’s petulant expression at being cheated of the last Blood Pop, but she thought she’d better not mention this to a twenty-five-year-old nephew who’d just been paroled from maximum security wizard prison.

“I meant the Manor, and you know that,” she said, and continued her perambulation of the room that might have one day been for a grandchild if only Tonks hadn’t gone and gotten herself killed during the Battle of Hogwarts and if she’d settled down and found someone since that little affair with Remus had fizzled out, and she shook herself and demonstrated how the window latch worked. “It gets a bit stuck in warm rain.” Draco made no effort to work it himself, so Andromeda slammed the window shut.

“The bathroom you’ll have to use is the one down the hall, but since my bedroom is on the ground floor, we won’t have to fight over it. And now I need a cup of tea.”

Draco pulled the periwinkle robe closer around him and followed her down the stairs.

She’d purchased The Howes after her husband’s death, when she couldn’t stand coming into their old sitting room and not finding Ted in the wingback chair near the fireplace, and she’d thought maybe she should have done the same thing with the cottage after Tonks’ death, but at that point, she’d been too tired to go on teaching and the housing market down south was becoming quite excessive, so she’d battened down at The Howes and pretended it didn’t bother her to catch glimpses of her daughter out of the corner of her eye when she’d had a glass of wine or finished a maudlin novel.

“I’ll teach you about the kettle and things tomorrow,” she said, gesturing towards the kitchen table.

Draco didn’t sit down. He stood in the doorway with his eyes watching her every movement.

This was going to become tiresome. She’d read the books about PTSD and prisons and all those things but being looked at constantly was already wearing her down and she’d be damned if she let her nephew get under her skin, so, girding her mind in the Black armor she’d abandoned years before, she said in a controlled voice, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to lurk in doorways?”

He shuffled into the kitchen and sat down on the edge of one of the wooden chairs.

Andromeda poured the tea and set it on the table. The Black armor was too heavy, so she set it aside and said in her ordinary voice, “You couldn’t lurk in doorways at Grimmauld because darling Auntie Walburga had enchanted them all and you’d come out in boils unless you went through rather quickly.”

One corner of Draco’s mouth threatened to lift into a smile. “Pustulent ones?”

“Worse than bubotuber pus,” Andromeda said, pouring tea into a cheerful yellow mug and passing it to him. “And they’d always sprout smack between your eyebrows.”

His lip curled.

“Luckily her curses died when she did.”

“Pity,” Draco said, “I’d have liked to see Potter break out in boils.”

Andromeda raised an eyebrow at this statement, but didn’t say anything—it was going to be like the dogs, she’d decided, just ignore any statements of prejudice or hatred so as not to reward bad behavior, and hope that he’d get into those damn classes fast enough to realize that the world was very, very different and then whenever he said something decent or at the least politically correct, she’d give him the human equivalent of a treat—but then the eyebrow had been a reaction, so she let the Black armor drop back into place for a moment or two of awkward silence.

She considered her hobnob. Draco took a lemon biscuit from the plate.

They chewed in silence.

Then Draco did something strange. His long, pale fingers flew over the jumble of digestives and jaffa cakes and rich teas, and then they were all sorted by type, overlapping in a circle around the plate, presided over by a small pyramid of the custard creams.

Andromeda studied his face as he withdrew his hands.

“Well, that’s much tidier,” she said.

Draco shrugged. He sipped his tea. Andromeda sipped hers.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	4. Hermione waited. “Biscuit?”

She wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to the brass plaque screwed into the oak door. When the chair showed her around the department on her first day, Hermione hadn’t actually read the names on the plaques and had just assumed that it was a holdover from 1909—not that they were updated and engraved with the current faculty’s name. It made sense, once you thought about it, because what would be the point of labeling offices with the names of long dead men, but at the same time, the cryptic workings of the London Institute of Magical Studies wouldn’t have surprised her. 

To get the job, she’d had to endure a twelve-hour interview that included a foxtrot with the assistant dean and a demonstration of her best porcupine-to-pincushion—which, despite all her protestations regarding the callous abuse of transfiguring sentient beings without their consent—had been a hiring requirement since 1643. And she’d checked with the special collections librarian about that on her first day as an actual faculty member because if it was hazing, that kind of nonsense had to stop, and yep, written into the magically-binding hiring language was a demonstration of said transfiguration.

Just another thing to bring up at a faculty meeting, Hermione sighed, to which Magdala Pomfrey (a cousin of Poppy’s, as it turned out, which Magdala had revealed with a twinkle in her eye that said that there was no wizarding HIPAA) had offered her full archival support and research capabilities. Just earlier that day, Hermione had added the 107th item to that list (“frogs migrating up 3rd floor women’s bathroom sink???”) and slammed it back into her desk drawer. 

And now, armed with a fresh cup of tea, hovering just in front of her, she was about to re-enter her office and arrange her mind for the aftermath of a tutorial with a particularly trying second-year student who just didn’t seem to understand that you needed an argument in a paper, when a smudge on the brass plaque caught her eye. 

She squinted one eye and rubbed it out with the edge of her cardigan. 

Which of course would be exactly when the Senior Fellow in Kathartic Runes popped out of his office and raised an eyebrow at her before sweeping down the dark hallway in majestic purple robes. Another quality reminder that she wasn’t quite from this magic world, she thought and flushed in anger and irritation. Despite all the shit that they’d worked towards after the War, there was still so much superiority and snobbery and—Hermione squinted and pushed her office door open with magic, just to prove that she could while levitating her teacup.

Her concentration wavered slightly as she noticed that the comfortable chair was occupied by one Harry James Potter, but she refused to let them think they’d surprised her—Harry’s refusal to give up the invisibility cloak was a long-running feud—and asked, “Do you want a cuppa?” 

“Oh, no, I’m good,” they said, brandishing an Irn-Bru. Hermione pulled a face at that drink choice but like, Harry was an adult who could rot their teeth out of their head if they wanted. 

“Don’t worry,” Harry said, “I’ll brush my teeth after.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. She hadn’t even said anything. 

“Why are you here, darling?” She settled behind her desk, pushing the pile of ungraded papers towards the edge—thank God LIMS no longer required submissions on scrolls or parchment—and leaned back in her chair. 

Harry looked … about the same as usual: frazzled, slightly irate, and fidgety. Their hair was a little limp with grease, their trainers were scuffed, and their flannel was pulled down over their hands. They bit their lip on one side and squinted one eye at Hermione. 

Hermione waited. She didn’t totally have time to just wait around but like, few things were more important than an impromptu visit from her best friend (well, other than Ron, she always had to clarify, but Ron was also her fiancé, which always seemed like it came with the assumption that you had to love that person as a friend and a lover like if you were going to marry them one day and oh fuck, she hadn’t written Molly back about those napkins). 

Harry would crack before she did. They weren’t going on year three of teaching seminars of stuttering, tongue-tied undergraduates impressed by the youngest LIMS professor (and only Black woman, and, shit, she needed to add BAME undergraduate support/mentoring program to that list). She squinted back at Harry and sipped her tea.

“I, uh,” they said. 

Hermione waited. “Biscuit?” 

Harry poked through the blue tin. “I heard that Malfoy’s out today,” they blurted, then shoved the entire biscuit into their mouth.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 

Harry was way less intimidatable than the Bursar.

“And how does that make you feel?” 

“Ugh, don’t therapy me,” Harry said around the biscuit remnants. 

“Ok, fine,” Hermione said with a sigh. “If he’s being released, he must have served his sentence.”

“Azkaban is fucked up.” 

Hermione nodded. She really didn’t want to get into the prison reform debate which like, they were on the same side of, but she was more interested in Harry’s feelings than policy right now. She rubbed her temples and wished Ron was there. Ron always knew what to ask to get right to the crux of the issue. But Harry was here, not at their house or Wheeze’s, which she didn’t know if that meant something, but like, they were here. So she had to deal with it. 

“I just,” Harry mumbled, “I feel bad.” 

“You feel bad?” Hermione couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “You spoke on Malfoy’s behalf on his trial and made a huge deal out of the fact that he lied about recognizing you at the Manor, which, like, was it really a mistake because you looked fucked up, and he was an accomplice to torture, and like, Harry—”

Harry had their hands tangled in their hair. 

“Harry, you did what you could. The Wizengamot was out for blood.” 

And they were, fucking hypocrities who’d fucking—Hermione gulped down some tea. She and Harry had both been in a lot of anger management therapy postwar and she didn’t want to be eaten up by rage at all the inequalities and injustices, which, thank God, were lessening through the waves of activism that thanks to Harry and everyone, but there still was so much wrong. So much to fix. So much to break down and burn to the ground. Not so much to mend. 

She’d washed her hands of it when the revolution didn’t come, and buried herself in her books because that was where her power lay—a renewable power, that is—and she was the first, she was doing the best, she was working so hard. And Harry was doing what they did best: organizing and teaching and inspiring. 

But they just looked tired. 

So Hermione got up and, wrapping her arms around their shoulders, snuggled her head down into their neck. “You did what you could, kid.” 

Harry rested their head on hers. There was a nice silence, a comfortable silence. “You smell nice,” Harry said at last.

Hermione untangled herself and pressed a kiss onto the top of Harry’s head. “You don’t; when’s the last time you took a proper bath?”

Harry turned their attention to the biscuit tin. 

“Right, so, you can’t run Conciliato when you’re on empty. I’m ordering you to take a bubble bath. Today.” 

“Ugh, fine.”

“I expect an owl by ten pm with the name of the bath bomb you picked.” 

Harry flapped one hand at her, then gathered the invisibility cloak around themselves, stood, and disappeared. 

“I know you’re still here, Potter,” Hermione said some thirty seconds later. She’d never reveal it, but she could tell when Harry was around. The air changed. Like all the magical particles just tilted slightly. Ron could feel it too, and Luna had agreed, but most people didn’t seem to be that attuned to the low-level magical particulates thrumming through the atmosphere, and Herminone had never wanted to make Harry feel weird by mentioning it (because, God, what if it was a long term Horcrux effect?). Plus it felt kind of cool to be able to mystify Harry, who held the invisibility cloak in the highest esteem, and yes, it was a highly magical and rare item, but Hermione was quite sure that there was more than a little sublimation of the respect and adoration and love Harry hadn’t gotten from his parents into and towards a garment that his father had worn regularly. 

There was a little frustrated huff near the door. 

“Also, the door never opened, and you can’t Apparate in here, so …” 

Hermione let that trail off, and there was a snicker near the door, which then opened and slammed shut and the particles in the room settled back down, and Hermione sighed, stretched her neck, and clicked her purple pen. 

Time to grade.

─────── ⎎ ─────── 


	5. “Malfoy,” said Neville.

Neville Longbottom pushed his fists deeper into the pockets of his Barbour. 

“Oh, no, I don’t want to come in, thanks, though, Andromeda,” he said as she opened the door, her eyebrows drawn together. She shouted back up the stairs and tried to hustle Neville inside the cottage, but Neville resisted because he’d not be put on the backfoot, not in this first meeting with Malfoy. 

He’d meet him in the open. With his feet on the ground and his head held high. 

The door slammed shut and Neville’s head shot up. Malfoy better not have hurt Andromeda, or fucked with that door, which Neville had just got to hang right again after the wet winter— 

It flew open again and Malfoy was shoved—Neville swallowed a grin—onto the broad front step. 

Malfoy stood half-collapsed against the door with his blonde hair hanging down in front of his face for a few seconds, then, with a sudden flash of movement that had Neville gripping his wand, he tossed his hair back and straightened up. 

“Longbottom,” Malfoy said. 

His grey eyes were as flat and even as his voice. 

“Malfoy,” Neville said, looking him up and down. “This isn’t going to work.” 

“Giving up already, how tedious,” Malfoy said in a drawl. “Oh, how one’s ickle altruism can go awry, that even the bravest Gryffindor—”

“Oh, so I’m braver than Potter?” Neville laughed at Malfoy. “That’s sweet of you.” 

“That’s—” 

“Andromeda!” 

She opened the door too fast to have not been lurking in the hallway. “Yes?” 

“Do you have anything else?” 

“She can hardly be hiding another criminal nephew.”

“Oh, the robes aren’t gonna work?” Andromeda’s smile was too broad. Her voice was just a tad too innocent, and, of course, she’d been a Slytherin. And a Black. 

And a woman who’d spent twenty-odd years living in the country, so of course she knew that Malfoy’s woolen robes weren’t going to work for tramping around the wilds of Northumberland, but Neville guessed that there had been some, uh, disagreement. 

“Maybe something more—” Neville tilted his head and pondered Malfoy, “Breathable?”

Malfoy curled his lip.

Ah, best push a little harder. “Got any joggers or uh, trainers?”

Malfoy’s face purpled. “I am not wearing Mudblood clothes,” he hissed.

Neville drew his hands out of his pockets and Malfoy flinched backwards. Neville froze. 

“I’m not—I wouldn’t—”

“Of course not,” Malfoy snapped. 

Andromeda hadn’t missed any of that and her warm brown eyes were boring into the back of her nephew’s head. She caught Neville’s eye and he realized that neither of them had any fucking idea what to do. 

“Just, uh, Andromeda,” Neville said, slowly moving his hands to his sides. “Just something like, he can hike in. I’ll go grab some boots from the shed.” 

And with that, Neville fled to the potting shed. He ducked inside, closed the door, and then leaned against it. He had to bend his head to avoid the low beam, but the door’s solidity and the warm darkness of the room calmed him. He did his diaphragmatic breathing, reiterated that he was going to help Malfoy and get some decent samples out of this period and that he wasn’t going to—trust. They’d have to work on trust. 

─────── ⎎ ─────── 


	6. “You and me both,” Remus said.

“Oh, fuck, my neck!” Sirius yelped as he rolled over in bed.

Remus Lupin glanced at his husband. “Ah, the perils of age,” he said with mild amusement and turned back to the crossword.

“Moony, I’m going to die, you have to apply the kiss of life,” Sirius moaned weakly. “Quickly, or you’ll be a widower.”

Remus tapped his ballpoint against the newsprint, then gasped, “Knickers!”

“Oh, I haven’t got any on,” Sirius said with a groan, “Moony, you’re killing me.”

Remus filled in the squares, then spared Sirius a glance. He actually hadn’t moved, which was a bit concerning, because usually SIrius would have wriggled his way into Remus’ lap by this point of a Sunday morning seduction, so Remus reached for his wand, ran a quick diagnostic, and then sighed.

“You’ve just pulled a muscle,” Remus said and pushed Sirius’ hand away from his neck. A quick _Restoraro_ and Sirius was immediately attempting to wiggle his way into Remus’ lap. Typical.

Remus bent his head and allowed Sirius one long kiss.

“You’re proving my theory about the physical strain of transforming,” he said when he’d pushed Sirius back down.

“I mean, I’m not a werewolf though, so,” Sirius said, sneaking one hand under the covers.

“You’re also more fragile for the week or so after my transformations, because you’ve spent a lot more time in canid form which, if you ever listened to me, isn’t a good idea because your body is also becoming less flexible with age, but you never—”

Sirius was very distracting.

“I can’t let you suffer alone,” he said with an innocent expression.

“Oh, you make me suffer enough,” Remus growled.

─────── ⎎ ───────

Sirius had promised to make French toast, but, thanks to his persistence upstairs, they were severely behind schedule. Harry popped in through the Floo as Sirius was whisking the eggs.

They were looking skinnier than usual, Remus noted with narrowed eyes, and pushed a cup of coffee into their hands.

“Working too hard, again?” Remus asked after Sirius had done his full bounding tackle and hair-ruffle and kiss routine.

“Ok, Dr. Lupin,” Harry said and rolled their eyes.

“You can’t solve the whole world’s problems.”

Harry shrugged and sipped the coffee and gagged.

“Shit, don’t drink that swill!” Sirius yelled.

“It’s fine,” Remus said, gulping down a mouthful. It tasted fine. He took another sip. It was definitely fine?

Sirius levitated Harry’s mug away from him. “I’ve got a kettle on the boil now,” he said with a half-exasperated, half-loving sigh that always settled Remus’ heart. “You know he can’t taste for shit so he always burns the coffee and then—”

“Normal werewolves get heightened senses, but,” Remus said with a shrug. He just always forgot that other people liked … well, the taste of things. If it was hot, that was good enough for him.

“Makes you easy to feed, love,” Sirius said with a lascivious wink. “Now that I’m a kept man and you lock me in the kitchen all day.”

Harry and Remus snorted at the same time.

“Multimillionaires hardly count as kept men,” Remus countered. “Rock stars certainly don’t. If anything, I’m the kept one.”

“We’re a power couple. At least.”

“I mean,” Harry said, “you’re definitely a power couple.”

Remus fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’m a GP. Who is currently married to the bloke who’s got a UK top 20 single.”

Sirius slammed a platter of French toast down on the table. “Bon appetit, my most beloved godchild and my favorite sexy werewolf doctor husband.”

“Good to know you have a couple of sexy werewolf doctor husbands as backup.”

Harry snorted, flipped a piece of French toast onto their plate, and was reaching for the syrup when Sirius yelped, “The fucking icing sugar!” He levitated it over to the table and released a powdery cloud.

“Right, right, now you can eat,” he said with a wave of his hands.

“So,” Harry said after they’d demolished the platter’s contents.

Remus didn’t raise his eyes from the crossword. This was often how Harry began conversations they weren’t quite sure about and Sirius would do enough jumping in for both of them, so—

“So what?”

Bless Sirius’ predictability.

“So—” Harry gathered their hair into a bun. Which meant that they were thinking. Which usually, in Remus’ experience, was going to mean something that at the very least, would be complicated, and at the most, would be dangerous. Often for completely righteous causes, Remus would be the first to admit, but sometimes he wished Harry would just rest on their laurels.

But that was unlikely.

“Have you heard that Malfoy’s out of Azkaban?”

Oh. Yes. They had talked about that. Kreacher had hobbled into the kitchen from his tiny cottage at the bottom of the garden because he staunchly refused to leave Master Black—even though he’d been Mr. Lupin for oh, six years, five months, and zero days, but it must have been more like six years and four months and some change on that day—with news that the tapestry had unraveled the silver-threaded shackles from a certain Draco Malfoy.

Kreacher dumped the slightly damp threads into Sirius’ hand and waited.

Sirius immediately passed the threads back to Kreacher and nodded, stiffening as he always did when he had to fulfill his duties as Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

“He’s your responsibility now,” Kreacher supplied.

“I know,” Sirius said curtly.

Despite thousands of galleons of legal research, Sirius hadn’t been able to end any of the patriarchal blood supremacist nonsense that was his birthright. Or his birth millstone. Which, in Remus’ opinion, had led to Sirius embarking on a career that was a big two fingers up to the surviving members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

He’d become a muggle rockstar. Fuck, non-magical rockstar, Remus reminded himself.

And, to everyone’s surprise, Sirius’ most of all, he was a damn good one. He’d sold out the O2 last year. Remus felt a blush rise to his cheeks at that night’s memories.

Those idiotic blood purist laws also had less good consequences. Like the fact that Lucius’ imprisonment had annulled the bonds of his marriage. Which meant that Narcissa and all her offspring (and Remus silently thanked the Christian Jesus he didn’t believe in that there was only one) “reverted” to the “responsibility” of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black through some _lex sanguinis._

But after that tense conversation, which ended with Kreacher tsk-ing his way back to his cottage, Sirius had said they shouldn’t say anything to Harry, not first. Harry had to bring it up. Which was a logical, reasonable plan, Remus figured. Or at least not illogical. But now, staring down at his unfinished crossword, he wondered if they’d fucked up.

“He’s on parole,” Sirius said. “With Andromeda.”

“So you knew?” Harry said, their voice taking on a sharp edge.

Sirius spread his hands on the table. “He’s technically a Black now, so I’m—”

“Wait, what?”

Sirius stared at his fingernails, which, Remus realized, he’d been biting again. “So, you know how I’m the Head,” he said with a sigh, “When Lucius went to Azkaban, Narcissa was released from her marriage, so he’s technically—ah, fuck, what did Murdock say? Something like a cadette branch of the Blacks now. It’s all bullshit, but …”

“So you knew he was out and you didn’t tell me?”

Remus sensed this was getting into dangerous territory. “We’re not hiding anything from you.”

“Really?” Harry said, pushing his chair back so it balanced on its back two legs. “Sounds like it.”

Sirius rubbed his forehead. “I’m not—I’m not fucking—on his side or whatever, but it’s a fucking legal nightmare. Andromeda’s got him under the highest form of wards at her cottage up near Newcastle and—”

“He’s at The Howes?!” Harry’s chair thumped to the floor. “Is that why you said we couldn’t go this summer?”

Sirius scratched his nose. “Yes.”

Harry glared at their godfather.

“There isn’t anywhere else … there wasn’t anyone else we could think of,” Sirius said lamely.

“The Manor was repossessed,” Remus said, “Narcissa’s in France. He needed some kind of sponsor. Andromeda agreed.”

“I think she was bored, anyway,” Sirius said with a grin that faded under Harry’s glare.

“Well, we certainly didn’t want him.” Remus glared back at Harry. “We didn’t think we could handle trying to reintegrate him into society. But it’s necessary. We can’t just let him sit in Azkaban forever.”

“I KNOW!” Harry exploded. Showers of green sparks flew out of their fingers.

Remus just looked at them evenly. A few years ago, Sirius would have roared right back, but now he waited. They both waited.

A few sparks sizzled onto the table.

“I just—I’m—” Harry glared at the table. Well, that was a slight improvement. “Aren’t they supposed to let people know?”

“The Ministry of Magic said they were more worried about someone killing him than him, uh, perpetrating more crimes,” Sirius said. “I mean, he still sounds like a shit, but—”

“How did you find out?” Remus asked.

Harry glanced at the ceiling.

“Hmmm,” Remus said, scrolling through Harry’s friends in his mind, “Must have been a Weasley.”

“Must be a Weasley,” Harry snarked, “you sound just like Malfoy.”

This was a non sequitur, so Remus persisted. “Percy?”

Remus knew he’d hit the nail on the head when Harry flexed one hand but didn’t speak.

“He shouldn’t have said anything,” Sirius said, “but fuck the Ministry.”

“You won’t do anything stupid.”

Remus didn’t think Harry would, but better to draw a line in the sand now rather than later.

Harry drew their head back. “Wait, what?”

“Regarding Malfoy. You’re not going to do anything stupid.”

Don’t even let it be a question.

“I wouldn’t, uh, do anything,” Harry said at last. “That would be stupid. It would also undermine the work I’ve been doing on, you know, forgiveness and equality and all that shit.”

“Well, yes,” Sirius said with a smirk. “Not great for the charity.”

“I just—” Harry sighed. “I’m not ready.”

Remus shot them a gentle smile. “It’s ok.”

“No one’s ever ready for this shit, mate,” Sirius said, doing his usual skate across the darker feelings with mateyness, but his voice had a warmth and gravity Harry seemed to appreciate.

They tugged their hair loose and sighed. “I’m just kinda pissed we can’t go to the cottage.”

“You and me both,” Remus said. “I was looking forward to a good ramble after Christmas dinner.”

Sirius gagged.

The tension ebbed out of the room. Sirius poured more coffee, and despite his best efforts and a serious amount of effort, Remus couldn’t taste the difference.

“Wait, does this mean we’re like cousins?” Harry blurted suddenly.

Sirius scratched his head. “Well, Malfoy is my maternal first cousin once removed or my paternal third cousin once removed. You’re my heir, so if I died—”

“When you die,” Remus said tartly.

“Yes, thank you, Moony,” Sirius said. “When I die, you, Harry, will technically be responsible for Malfoy within the House of Black, but I don’t think that it creates some kind of familial relationship. Otherwise you’d be a god-cousin but second? A second-god cousin?”

Harry wrinkled their nose.

“It isn’t what matters about a family.” Sirius looked at Harry and Remus with a sudden fierceness. “Love is what matters.”

Remus blinked down at the crossword. _Four down: Bit of paronomasia._

“Of course,” Harry said, moving around the table to hug Sirius. They came and hung their head over Remus’ shoulder, a comforting weight. Remus breathed in the smell of Harry’s hair. The child they’d never had, the child they’d always wanted and, in some sense, always had. He and Sirius were the only ones left, and they’d be there for Harry until the end.

“It’s PUN,” Harry said, filching the pen from Remus and scrawling it into four down.

That kid.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	7. Respecting the Non-Magical World, Module 1.

**Slide 1: Respecting the Non-Magical World**

_**Module 1: What is the Non-Magical World?** _

Jason Clarke-Rodríguez, Non-Magical Studies Consultant

Ministry of Magic, Department of Continuing Education

✍ _Notes to Slide 1:_

  * Stay positive!
  * Remember to encourage people to fill out and put on their name badges.
  * Remind folks there’s coffee, tea, and soda at the back of the room.



— change slide —

**Slide 2: Introductions**

Moderator: Jason Clarke-Rodríguez

Available via

    * Owl
    * Floo call (schedule ahead, in class)
    * Cell phone (non-magical): 020 7512 4382
    * E-mail (non-magical): clarke-rodriguez.j@mom.gov



Introductions

  1. Your Name
  2. Your Department at MoM or other affiliation
  3. How you heard about and why you’re taking this course
  4. Favorite flavor of Bertie Bott’s



✍ _Notes to Slide 2:_

  * Introduce yourself !!
  * he/him/his pronouns
  * Grew up in Hackney with a witch mum and a non-magical dad (who was also from Spain, let them know you speak fluent Spanish in case that’s relevant for someone)
  * Graduated from Hogwarts in 2001
  * Studied what was then called Muggle Studies at the University of Edinburgh
  * First to occupy the position of “Non-Magical Studies Consultant” at the Ministry of Magic’s new Department of Continuing Education
  * First time offering this course, and excited to explore this new era of magical/non-magical relations



Re: Powerpoint

  * it’s computers, and that’s a kind of electronically-based system of information gathering and sharing
  * used to share images, information, and other exercises during the presentation section of this course
  * Immersion in the non-magical world from the beginning



  * Re: Introductions
  * Follow on screen instructions
  * _OK. DO NOT ASK PEOPLE WHY THEY ARE TAKING THIS COURSE. _



— change slide —

**Slide 3: What is the Non-Magical World?**

[a photograph of teenagers hanging out in a park. They’re wearing jeans, hoodies, trainers. Two of them listen to an ipod. One eats a hamburger. Another teen eats french fries from a McDonald’s bag. A fourth and fifth teen kick a soccer ball between them]

✍ _Notes to Slide 2:_

  * Ask a volunteer to describe the image — no judgments, just describe what you see on the screen
  * Ask about similarities with magical teenage years
    * Friends, hanging out, enjoying time together and outside, eating, sports
  * Ask about differences 
    * Types of food, electronics (for music), sports equipment/balls, clothes
    * Recap: the non-magical world is different than ours, but not inferior — different values, customs, clothes, etc.
    * More magical births occurring in non-magical couples means increased contact between our two worlds
    * Real-world examples in this class to understand the non-magical world



— change slide —

**Slide 4: What are we going to do in Respecting the Non-Magical World?**

Required: 12 classroom sessions, 2 field trips, 1 certificate examination

Classroom activities

  * Informational Presentations by Moderator
  * Active Learning
  * Discussions
  * Field trips


  * Cinema + Dinner (after Module 6)
  * Village Fete (after Module 11)



  * Certificate examination (after Module 12)



  * Celebration + Talent Show (after examination)



✍ _Notes to Slide 2:_

  * All class sessions mandatory — be in touch to get up to date about what you missed if you really can’t make it to a session. Major illness, death, etc. Excuses must be submitted to the moderator no more than 24 hours after the time of the class session.
  * Emphasize that the certificate is pass/fail.
  * Active Learning — activities to make sure they understand key concepts, e.g., working with Muggle money, role-playing in preparation for the field trips
  * Don’t get too bogged down in explaining how the cinema works (later discussion for electricity session)



— change slide —

**Slide 5: Classroom Sessions**

    * Module 1: What is the Non-Magical World?
    * Module 2: Mapping the Non-Magical World
    * Module 3: Identity + Biology
    * Module 4: Education + Occupations
    * Module 5: Technology I
    * Module 6: Media
    * Cinema + Dinner Field Trip



_CHRISTMAS BREAK — NO CLASS FOR 2 WEEKS_

  * Module 7: Languages + Music
  * Module 8: Technology II
  * Module 9: Fashion
  * Module 10: Ceremonies, Holidays + Celebrations
  * Village Fete Field Trip
  * Module 11: Contemporary Issues
  * Module 12: What is the Non-Magical World?



✍ _Notes to Slide 2:_

  * Just read through these — they’re all on the handout as well
  * Dates also on the handout



— change slide —

**Slide 6: What is the Non-Magical World?**

  * Everything that’s not-magic in the world?
  * Unintelligible cultural practices?
  * A parallel society that values chemical and electrical-based technology and energy sources?
  * Hamburgers? Jeans? Football?



✍ _Notes to Slide 2:_ Explain that these are all valid explanations — and each is only a fragment of what magic-users might think about the non-magical world

— change slide —

**Slide 7: Respectful Language**

  * Muggle —> Non-Magical
  * The Other M-word / M*******



✍ _Notes to Slide 2:_

  * Differences between “non” and “un” (more judgmental)
  * Unacceptable to use the other m-word
  * _YES, IN THIS COURSE AND IN THE MAGICAL WORLD IN GENERAL. ???!??!?!?! how hOW JFKLDA ??!?!?! /??DFSAJFLKDAS_
  * Add in something about place names also, how we’ll cover the duality and dual-naming later in the term



— change slide —

**Slide 8: How can I succeed in this course?**

  * Come to class!
  * Bring handouts, be prepared to participate.
  * You’ll need a means of taking notes.
  * Complete assignments.
  * Leave your judgements at the door.
  * For next class, think about the following questions and take some notes in your class notebook:
    * Where do you live? What kind of neighborhood or area is it? What’s the landscape like? What’s your house like?
    * What’s the nearest non-magical settlement/town/city? Do you have non-magical neighbors? Do you know them?



✍ _Notes to Slide 2:_

  * Reveal notebooks and pencils, hand them out — explain that their note-taking will now be a part of their active learning in class
    * _Get more sparkly pencils next time._
  * Reiterate that there are no WRONG answers to these questions; they’re just exploratory and they don’t need to study for them (it’s personal experience), but that they should think as broadly as they can, feeling free to ask family and friends as well.
  * _Touch base with the Sociatrix division._



─────── ⎎ ───────


	8. “Side effects,” Luna objected.

“I don’t understand why you care so much.”

Luna tilted her head.

Neville took refuge in his tea.

He was being odd, she thought, and turned her attention back to the bowl of banana chips on the table between them. He’d offered to help her in the garden, which she really didn’t want to work on, and thank goodness Ginny had suggested working up a little rain cloud to coincide with his arrival.

“I mean, you’re a good man,” Luna said, “and it makes sense that you care. You’re a very caring person, Neville.”

Neville blushed to the roots of his hair. It was less blond now, but that happened to some people. It hadn’t happened to her.

She would like a nice pair of eyebrows.

Then, remembering once again she was a witch, Luna raised her wand to her eyebrow and Neville blurted, “Don’t!”

“Why not?”

Neville looked miserable. “I promised Ginny,” he mumbled. “Last time you, you know, the yellow one, and then when you tried aqua, you got that rash, and then, you know, Ginny.”

Luna sighed. “Ginny is no fun at all,” she said and sighed.

“You just have to find uh, a better spell. Then Ginny won’t mind. It’s the, uh,” Neville gestured with one hand and dropped a banana chip on the ground. “Wounds.”

“Side effects,” Luna objected.

Neville resurfaced and tucked the errant banana chip into his pocket. “Compost.”

“I still don’t see why you care so much.”

She wasn’t going to let him just drift away from the subject.

“I mean, if anything, I think he’s my fourth cousin once removed or something, so I supposed by some kind of blood purist point of view, I should feel compelled to help him, but—” Luna paused and closed her eyes.

There was a kind of sadness surrounding her thoughts concerning Draco. A light blue-purple, a darker periwinkle. Touched with that grey sadness and fuzz that surrounded those memories of the Manor. She could appreciate that she could think of it and keep breathing. He wasn’t quite there-there, but he wasn’t not-there.

A not-not-there.

He was a sort of vague badness, she supposed, as far as she knew.

But Azkaban had changed far kinder people.

So who knew what he was like now?

“You’re doing what you can,” she said finally. She let her memories float back into their baskets.

And then she opened her eyes again.

Neville appeared to be blushing. Again? Still? Luna blinked a few times. She wasn’t used to his bashfulness. Re-bashfulness?

“I’ve uh,” he said.

“What?” Luna asked, attempting to keep the edge out of her voice. Ginny had made her impatient. At least about emotional rambling. And those idiotic shynesses that should have fallen away between friends. She’d been there for Neville, from Trevor’s death to his first therapy session, from his mum’s funeral to his doctorate.

And now he was sitting there, usually so confident in his broad shoulders and thick arms and capable thighs, suddenly thirteen again and bumbling around after a long-dead toad.

“I’ve been seeing someone,” he managed in a hoarse whisper.

Luna squinted at him. “Is it Draco Malfoy?”

Neville gasped. “No!”

“So, what’s the issue?”

“It would be a horrible abuse of power to enter a sexual relationship with Malfoy,” Neville said, snapping back into his confidence. “Unthinkable. I’d lose my position at the university and my ability to work for the community service component of the rehabilitation program.”

Half-bemused, he shook his head at her.

“So, who is it?” She turned her attention back towards the banana chips. Best to not act too interested. That piqued him a little, and he leaned forward.

“Do you remember Blaise?”

“Zabini?”

“Yeah,” Neville breathed.

“Lovely,” Luna said, “I can’t wait to meet … them?”

She really had no facial recollection of a Blaise Zabini, but names always stuck in her mind.

“Blaise uses he/him,” Neville said. “He’s—I—so I met him at this conference in London, just by chance, he was grabbing a drink at the bar with a friend and recognized me—recognized me—”

“Neville,” she interrupted, “you’re very memorable. You’re a war hero and six eight.”

“Anyway, he recognized me and bought me a drink and he was so funny and weird—I think you’d like him—but anyway, we ended up, you know,” Neville lowered his voice, “hooking up. In my hotel room!”

“How lovely!”

She really was pleased. Neville knew he was hot. But inside he was still a bit shy. A bit bruised. But he was so careful and to hear that he’d been able to open up to someone and experience a sexual event and explore his sexuality and it sounded like a good time. She grinned.

“Good for you!”

In the same low voice, he continued, “And it was like, so, so, good? I didn’t know that—well, anyway. And then he ended up getting lunch with me during a break in the conference the next day, and then when I said I had to get back to Northumberland, he was like, ‘I could visit you, unless that’s too much,’ and he seemed kind of shy? Which, Luna—he’s stunning and so—well, it was unexpected.”

“You are a catch, my darling,” she said approvingly. Blaise must know a good man when he met one. That was worth something.

“So he’s coming up this weekend. I tried to make the cottage a bit more … sophisticated? He was in Prague for a few years after the war, and I don’t know what he’d think of—”

Luna flapped her hands at him. “He won’t care, trust me.”

Neville looked like he didn’t believe her.

She raised an eyebrow. “He’s coming to the middle of nowhere to see you. You. And do sexual things to and with you. I hardly think the decor is going to be high on his list of desires.

“And if it is,” Luna shrugged, “he’s not the right one.”

Neville swallowed. “I guess.”

“So, this is lovely, but why are you still worried?”

He scratched his nose. “He was friends with Draco at Hogwarts, but I, uh, I haven’t mentioned that Draco’s assisting me up here because I haven’t wanted to get into the whole blood supremacy thing like, I don’t think Blaise has those views like he was talking about how he’s been really impressed with all the changes to magical society in Britain in the year he’s been back, but we’ve only spent four days together, and now it’s gotten to that point where I don’t want to fuck things up because even though it’s only four days, I really like him and I keep having these dreams—er, well. Yeah.”

Luna batted her eyelashes at him as sarcastically as she could.

“Just tell him like what you’ve been doing and that you’re doing community service with Draco?”

“You don’t think I should preface it somehow?”

Luna fought a sigh. “Either he’ll understand that you’re a good person doing a good job with plants and things and also trying to reform someone who at the very least is slightly prickly and might even still be a blood supremacist, but it’s not entirely your job, anyway, or he’ll be offended by something that’s not even real, and he’ll leave.”

Neville’s face fell.

“You’ll always have me and Gin,” she said, leaning forward.

Neville made a peace sign. The universal bisexual defense mechanism.

“Darling, it will be ok. It sounds like he’s quite smitten. And also that he isn’t a blood supremacist, which is all that really matters. This whole Draco situation—” Luna shrugged.

“Just gotta keep digging,” Neville said with a determined nod.

“Exactly,” Luna said, even though she wouldn’t ever have said that or thought that. But maybe there was some good dirt down in there in his soul. Or his bones? Perhaps bones were the human roots.

There was some good dirt in there, somewhere.

Probably.

There was some periwinkle there, anyway.

And purple was worth digging for. That, she was sure of.

But, more excitingly, Neville might have a boyfriend.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	9. ~& darco *~ *~ malfyo ~ * @~

**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** oiiiiiiiiiiii harry u there  
**justmarauderingaround:** ya wot  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** nmu  
**justmarauderingaround:**?????  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** mione says its not much u  
**justmarauderingaround:** yeah but u didnt ask me that lol  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** o ya how r u doing mate  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** sry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** loll  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** ill get the hang of it one day  
**justmarauderingaround:** do u still type with one finger  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** …. N O  
**justmarauderingaround:** k hermione says u do soooooooooooooooooo  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** BETRAYYYED  
**justmarauderingaround:** pwnd  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** how was ur day  
**justmarauderingaround:** uh  
**justmarauderingaround:** fine  
**justmarauderingaround:** chillin  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** o rly  
**justmarauderingaround:** ok  
**justmarauderingaround:** im working  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** mate its like 10 p m stop  
**justmarauderingaround:** 1 more email tho  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** lolllllllll  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** ne way  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** perc said he saw malfoy @ mom last week  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** weird rite  
**justmarauderingaround:** ya I guess  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** idk thought u would want 2 kno  
**justmarauderingaround:** lol y  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** idk herm said u mentioned him  
**justmarauderingaround:** WHY DOES EVERYONE ASSUME I CARE ABOUT WHAT MALFOY IS DOING  
**justmarauderingaround:** I DO NOT  
**justmarauderingaround:** CARE  
**justmarauderingaround:** WAHT  
**justmarauderingaround:** DARCO MALFYO  
**justmarauderingaround:** IS DOING  
**justmarauderingaround:**!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
**justmarauderingaround:**!!!!!  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** lol  
**justmarauderingaround:** I DONT CARE  
**justmarauderingaround:** O K !!!!!!!!!!!  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** ~& darco *~ *~ malfyo ~ * @~  
**justmarauderingaround:** draco malfoy  
**justmarauderingaround:** thats what I meant  
**justmarauderingaround:** u kno i meant that  
**justmarauderingaround:** not darco  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** DAAAAARRRRCOOOOOOOOOOO MALLLLLFYOOOOOOOOOOOO  
**justmarauderingaround:** lol mione told me u just choked  
**Justmarauderingaround:** karma bitch  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** if i die laughin  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** LOOOOLL  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** wot a way 2 die  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** after all the shit we did hahaha  
**justmarauderingaround:** ronald bilius weasley, 26, died tuesday at his residence in newton poppinford frOM LAUGHING AT HIS BEST FRIEND LIKE THE DICK HE IS  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** loooooooooollllllllllllll  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** looolllll  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** dw mione knows cpr  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry it’s Newton Poppleford  
**justmarauderingaround:**????  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** sry mione over shoulder typin  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** but ya shes right  
**justmarauderingaround:** ok sry i didnt get ur tiny ass town name correct in my fake obit for u  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** it’s leviOHsah MATE  
**justmarauderingaround:** pwned 1nce again  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** whipped since day 1 babeyyyyy :DDDDDDD  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** thatz my wife  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** well 1 day  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** next summer  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** :DDDDDDDDDDDDDDD  
**justmarauderingaround:** ugh go be gross somewhere else i have work  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** kkkk  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** night mate  
**justmarauderingaround:** wait  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:**??  
**justmarauderingaround:** uGHGHHHHGH  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:**?????? u ok harry ???  
**justmarauderingaround:** uGH  
**justmarauderingaround:** ok  
**justmarauderingaround:** ok so like what was malfoy doing  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** FHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHHA  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** HAHAHAHHHFHHAHAHAHAHFKDHAHAHAHAHALHFKLDAS HAHAH  
**justmarauderingaround:** RO NAL D I WILL APPARATE THERE  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** k sry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAH  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** HAHAHAHHAHA  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** OK SORRY  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** k  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** idk perc said he was in a conference room idk  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** like some kinda meeting  
**justmarauderingaround:**?????  
**justmarauderingaround:** wot  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** ya idk  
**justmarauderingaround:** uhhhhhhhhhhh  
**justmarauderingaround:** does percy have aim  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** loooool i was RIGHT THO  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** l o l   
**justmarauderingaround:** he could be doing SOMETHING BAD IDK INFILTRATIN THE MINISTRY  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** perc said it looked like a lecture or like ….  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** wots the drug one that  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** where u go and talk about drugs ???  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** when ur trying to not go get fucked up or pissed or whatever  
**justmarauderingaround:** aa?  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** ahhh???  
**justmarauderingaround:** alcoholics anonymous ron AA  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** or drugs anonymous  
**justmarauderingaround:** ye that's narcotics anonymous NA  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** o lol ya I see  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** ya maybe that  
**justmarauderingaround:** do they have that @mom tho  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** idk perc says lots of peeps there take shit  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** gilly poppers inc spice snuz morph  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** u kno  
**justmarauderingaround:** lol did u google those names  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** na im hard  
**justmarauderingaround:** l o l rite  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** lol percy gave us a lecture last family dinner  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** *~///evil drugs ////~ and their street names  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** george spit out his pumpkin juice  
**justmarauderingaround:** HAHA WOW  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** ya perce didnt see tho  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** thank fuck or wed have been there for another hour  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva** : even dad was like ya thx perce can we firecall fred to look at the baby  
**justmarauderingaround:** wait how are angie and baby artemis  
**justmarauderingaround:** n fred i guess lol  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** HARRY SHE IS SO FUCKING CUTE I CANT DEAL  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** LITERALLY  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** so PRECIOUS JFDKL AHHHHHHHHHH  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** wish theyd come back from oz  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** want 2 hold her before she loses that baby smell lol  
**justmarauderingaround:** selfish selfish lol  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** ya idc  
**justmarauderingaround:** good tho good 2 hear  
**justmarauderingaround:** ANYWAY  
**justmarauderingaround:** i dont think malfoys like taking drugs with mom employees  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** idk homie  
**justmarauderingaround:**???he’s ???a criminal???????  
**justmarauderingaround:** he just got out of azkaban like  
**justmarauderingaround:** mom employees arent gonna be like hey mate u want some gilly??!  
**justmarauderingaround:** or something hARDER and then get him addicted so fast that hes in a mom drugs anonymous meeting 4 months later like ???!!?  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** lol ya ur probs right  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** idk what he was doin  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** 4 months tho u been counting hmmmMMMmm  
**justmarauderingaround:** whats percy’s aim  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** percivalweasley1976  
**justmarauderingaround:** o_o  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** ya  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** I kno  
**justmarauderingaround:** k thx  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** wot r u gonna do  
**justmarauderingaround:** nm  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** wot  
**justmarauderingaround:** nothiNG OK  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** k just dont get weird about it  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** like at school  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** u got weird mate  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** WHERE is HE on the MA P  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** lets go watch malfoy in the corridor  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** quick get the cloak  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** wot is he dOINNNNNN  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** his hair  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** is his hair still shit  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** i bet perce is asleep lol  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry mate u ther e ??  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:**???????  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** harry  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** k lol  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** night mate  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** ilu  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** sweet dreamzzzzz  
**chudl3yc4nn0nz4eva:** <333333333

─────── ⎎ ───────


	10. “Oh, no, it’s fine,” Blaise said.

“Oh, are we going somewhere?” Blaise yawned and stretched his arms overhead. Neville’s jumper was gigantic and cozy, so he really had to arch his back until it rode up enough to—

He caught Neville’s eyes on his abs, and, gratified by the way his gaze had glazed over, smiled broadly.

“Uh,” Neville narrowed his eyes and scratched his forehead, “what?”

“Are we going somewhere? You’re all dressed.”

Blaise wouldn’t normally have looked twice at someone in dungarees, but the way Neville filled them out—and he’d bent over to tie his boot or something, and Blaise allowed himself to just appreciate, his hands wrapped around the mug of tea.

“Oh, you don’t have to come,” Neville said as he rose. “I have to go get some plants and I sent Andy a note to tell Draco that if he wanted to get some extra hours, he could.”

Blaise’s stomach dropped.

“Hours?”

This was what always happened.

Draco always happened.

Neville shifted, his eyes darting from side to side. “Hour and a half, tops.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Blaise said in a bright voice. The goddamn steel ribbing he’d woven around his heart had failed once again. He stared down at his tea. Things had been so good? And now they were fucked? And it was definitely, kind of one hundred percent his fault because he was probably overreacting again, but maybe he wasn’t because it was Draco, so like, how could anyone compete with that kind of cut glass beauty?

He realized he’d zoned out because Neville looked concerned.

 _Fuck._ He’d been working on not doing that. Or at least on hiding it better. And now Neville might know or guess or intuit that he wasn’t all quite there or quite alright. All right in the head. And it was fucked once again.

“I don’t want to go,” Neville said, and suddenly his large hands were on Blaise’s shoulders, kneading away the tension.

Blaise fought the urge to purr.

“I really don’t want to go.” His voice was like one of those manual coffee grinders, and then, _fuck,_ Neville was kissing his neck. He was going to melt and keel over on this stupid formica table. “I’d much rather stay here. With you.”

Blaise made some kind of noise. His brain was scrambling. Static.

But the good kind. The very, very good kind.

Just as he turned his face toward Neville’s, there was a knock on the door.

He snapped back.

Neville growled—growled!—and pressed another kiss against his neck. “Andy must have brought him up here.”

“Oh,” Blaise said, suddenly conscious that he was in raggedy joggers and Neville’s jumper.

“You look gorgeous,” he said.

So Blaise decided to believe that and followed him to the front door. He swallowed. He balled his hands into fists in the long sleeves. He put his chin up.

“Hey, good morning, come in.”

“Oh, no, I can’t stay,” the older woman who must be Andromeda said, with a quick wave at Blaise, who was kind of stuck behind Neville in the doorway. “Assumed you’d want as much of a lie-in as you could get.”

Did she just wink at him?

The back of Neville’s neck reddened. “Andy, Blaise, Blaise, Andy.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Blaise said. He reached a hand around Neville’s arm.

She grinned, squeezed it, and said, “Always lovely to meet another Slytherin.”

“Oh?”

Andromeda _Black_. Of course.

“Good job, darling,” Andromeda said with another wink. “He’s been beating off the ramblers with a stick all summer.”

There was a short bark of laughter from behind Andromeda.

Oh, right. Draco.

Blaise fought the urge to rise to his tiptoes to see his former housemate, onetime best friend, the first boy he’d imagined kissing, and Andromeda rolled her eyes and turned away from the house.

“Lions make us honest! It’s horrible but it’ll be good for you!” she shouted as she strode away before disapparating with the telltale crack.

Draco Malfoy.

It had been, what, eight? nine? years, since Blaise had set eyes on him.

Well, he still had perfect posture and cheekbones.

The rest of him was, to put it mildly, a surprise. Draco’s hair was already receding (Blaise felt a vicious spike of elation), or maybe it was coming out in patches (and he felt guilty), and he was wearing jeans, trainers, and a t-shirt with some 5k logo.

Hardly like the imposing Draco Malfoy who’d turned up his pointed chin and hissed at Blaise that the new order was coming and Blaise had better pick the right side before it was too fucking late.

He’d been wearing emerald robes, then.

Neville was still standing squarely in front of Blaise. Like he was protecting him from the Malfoy on the steps of their castle; Blaise barely had time to shake himself for that ridiculously romantic thought before Neville had turned and muttered, “Are you ok, babe?”

Draco’s head shot up.

“Nice to see you, Draco,” Blaise said.

Draco smiled one of his pointy grins. “Zabini.”

Blaise didn’t know what to say to that, so he stood perfectly still.

“You gonna be ok?” Neville’s voice was soft and full of concern. Blaise smiled and nodded. It was all fine, fine, fine.

“Ok,” Neville said after a searching look. He stepped away from Blaise, who suddenly found that he had to lean against the doorframe. Neville’s brows drew together, then he gaze flicked to Draco and back to Blaise, and then Neville was kissing him, hard and fast but sweet.

Blaise slowly opened his eyes back to reality.

Draco’s mouth was hanging open.

Literally, Blaise could see his molars.

Neville moistened his lips and grinned. “See you later, babe.”

Draco blinked. His mouth was still open.

“Ready, Malfoy?”

Neville tossed one of the shovels near the door towards Draco.

It missed him and fell into the grass.

He was still staring at Blaise, his gaze flicking to Neville and then back to Blaise.

“You alright, mate?” Neville was starting to look a bit concerned. He bent and grabbed Draco’s shovel and hoisted the two of them over his shoulder. “We’ve got to get a move on. The floreated hawkbit’s only going to be effusing this morning, so, shift it.”

Draco’s mouth closed. Slowly.

He shot a piercing look at Blaise, then turned and followed Neville, without a single comment. Blaise stood in the doorway. There was a warmth suffusing him that had nothing to do with the growing heat of the day.

At the top of the verge, Draco looked back.

─────── ⎎ ───────

A week later, a tawny owl tapped its beak on Blaise’s window. Recognizing Neville’s crabbed handwriting, his heart sped up—one day it would be pure excitement, untinged with dread. One day.

He tossed the owl a treat and curled up on the sofa.

_Hey babe,_

_Just a quick note to say you’re very cool and I miss you already which maybe sounds lame but who cares I wish I could kiss you. Hope you are feeling the same._

Blaise fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he was feeling the same. What kind of idiot wouldn’t want to spend all day kissing Neville. That couldn’t even be a rhetorical question. It was so obvious.

_Weird thing happened today which is why I’m writing you—thought you might have some insight re: the situation. Right, the situation was that Draco and I were digging up some of the rannicular polypodys—_

He’d crossed that out and written FERNS above the words. Blaise smirked.

_Draco made a weird noise and then asked me if you’d gotten bonded to me accidentally. I laughed because what the fuck ??? He turned beetroot and spluttered that I’d kissed you and that was sometimes a byproduct of a bond. And I said, yeah, we were bonded, but not in like a magical way, but because you were my boyfriend (WHICH IS OK I HOPE BECAUSE I WANTED TO ASK YOU IN PERSON BUT THEN I WAS BLURTED IT OUT. I HOPE THAT WASN’T A LIE. SO I AM GOING TO ASK YOU WHEN I SEE YOU AGAIN.)_

Blaise’s hand flew to his mouth.

Oh, how pleasing. Yes. That would be a nice conversation. Yes.

 _Draco seemed really confused but he didn’t ask any more questions. I didn’t really know what to say so we just kept digging. Weird, right?_ xx _Neville_

How curious.

How very curious, Blaise thought. He penned a quick note back, sealed it, and handed it to the owl, who chirped twice and swooped out the window.

─────── ⎎ ───────

_OF COURSE I WILL BE YOUR BOYFRIEND !!!! YES !!!!!! I still expect you to ask me in person_   
_Maybe with flowers. (I like peonies best.)_   
_xxxx Blaise_

─────── ⎎ ───────

“Oh, fuck,” Blaise said, and called for his own owl.

_Forgot to respond to the Draco thing, sorry._   
_It might be easier to explain in person._   
_Post peonies. Obviously._   
_xx B_

─────── ⎎ ───────


	11. “I like the heat,” said Florian Fortescue.

Florian Fortescue tapped the glass door and waited. He’d seen a few shapes moving around behind the brown papered windows, and if he knew anything about Harry Potter, they’d be in there, sweating away in the late summer heatwave without even thinking about taking a break.

As if Harry ever took a break until they collapsed.

Florian bit back a smile as the door opened inwards and Ron Weasley peered around it.

“Oh, hey, mate!”

“Just brought you some ice creams,” Florian said, ducking inside before any of the paparazzi camped out across the street could rush towards the building.

“Oh, thank God,” Harry said.

They wiped sweat off their brow with one long arm. Florian attempted to make his legs work normally.

He’d never have expected to one, befriend Harry Potter and two, develop a huge crush on Harry Potter. Well, the second was way more likely. Who didn’t have a crush on Harry Potter? But befriending Harry Potter. That still seemed mad.

Florian Fortescue had grown up spending summers in his grandfather’s ice cream parlor. Florean. He was a Florian. Because the nurse didn’t believe his mum.

It had been lovely listening to his grandfather’s wild tales of the wizarding past—magical past, he reminded himself, while handing Harry a raspberry ripple caramel cone—but as the years went by and he got closer and closer to eleven without having so much as a blip of magic, things became less sunny.

Florian was a squib.

He hadn’t gotten a Hogwarts letter. Or a wand.

He’d gone to the local non-magical comprehensive and college and uni and was two years into a finance job in the City when his mum had called.

His granddad had been murdered.

By some wizard fascist.

Florian’s whole world changed.

He cleaned up the parlor, scrubbed everything down on his hands and knees, washing his granddad’s blood down the drain. That was the closest he got to a funeral. They never found his whole body. Just fragments the Ministry wouldn’t let them have.

So he reopened the parlor, right in the middle of a fucking wizard war.

Because, fuck it.

He wasn’t gonna go back to trading stocks.

“This isn’t, uh,” Ron said. He was holding his chocolate ice cream (well, his chocolate and Seville orange ice cream with a swirl of bittersweet fudge, and a chocolate waffle cone, because Ron was a chocoholic, God what a gross word though) with a concerned expression on his face.

“Oh, no, mate,” Florian said with a shake of his head. “I don’t fuck with that anymore.”

He’d had two lines of ice creams during the war. Ordinary flavors for ordinary customers. Something a little spicier, a little spikier, a little fucked up for the Death Eaters who tried to swan in and, after smacking him around, bully him into giving them free treats.

They didn’t have to pay in galleons, anyway.

Just in bouts of cramping, explosive diarrhea, or days of constipation.

If Death Eaters didn’t want to learn about non-magical pharmaceuticals, Florian wasn’t going to be the one to tell them.

It didn’t feel like enough because _they_ were murdering people, Florian had confessed to Harry, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually kill someone.

“I wish I had that line,” Harry had said in a thick voice. Their green eyes shone.

“Wait,” Harry said, and Florian snapped back to the present. “You didn’t bring yourself one!”

“I eat way too much ice cream already,” Florian said with a shrug. He spun around to take in the space.

Luna had done the colorful murals: clouds and sunsets and rainbows and branches of magical plants, reaching and floating across the walls. Couches and chairs huddled together in little seating areas. Then there were the tables, stacked high with papers and files, and down the hall, the rooms that would one day be offices and a kitchen. The toilet was already there, and Florian smirked as he remembered the hot plumber whose mild flirty banter had so flustered Harry they’d suddenly remembered a pressing appointment and fled.

The poor plumber, who’d been hired off craigslist, had no idea who Harry was. Florian had tried to explain that Harry was like, famous, and not good at flirting. And then he’d ended up fucking the plumber, because _he_ was good at flirting.

The toilets weren’t bad, Florian thought, and grinned again.

“Why are you so cheerful today? It’s so bloody hot.”

“I like the heat,” Florian said. “And I make a fuckload of money when it’s hot. So.” He shrugged and plopped down on a couch.

Ron shook his head and licked the chocolate drips from his fingers. People from big families ate so quickly.

“Can’t you, you know,” Florian waved his hands around, “cool it down.”

Ron and Harry exchanged a glance and then yelled, “FUCK!” at the same time.

“Oh my god,” Florian said and groaned. He’d never understand how you just like, forgot that you could do magic and fix whatever you wanted in your environment or move shit or anything. Well, it made more sense with Harry, but Ron?

Ron waved his wand and the temperature in the room dropped.

“Don’t you have work?” That sounded a bit pointed, fuck. Ron knew he had a crush on Harry, and he’d even tried wingmanning Florian once, but actually, Ron was less useful than a plate of worms, and somehow that evening at the Broomsticks, he’d ended up staying way too late watching Hannah Abbott flirt with Harry. But he didn’t think Harry hadn’t gone home with her. Harry didn’t go home with anyone. Or they hadn’t gone home with anyone since Ginny.

They just didn’t know if they were wanted for being them or for being the Kid Who Lived.

That would fuck with anybody.

“George gave me the afternoon off. He’s hired like five Hogwarts kids this summer as interns so I never have anything to do.” Ron shrugged. “At least I feel like I’m doing something useful when I’m here. Otherwise I’d just go home and fuck around.”

“What are you making tonight?”

“Actually,” Ron said, his eyes lighting up, “Mione mentioned that she was craving salad caprese. So I’ve been thinking—” and here he made a kind of rainbow gesture with his hands, “Caprese with green mango.”

Harry’s nose wrinkled.

“Doesn’t sound half bad, actually,” Florian said. Harry was such a square.

Ron was the only one who was interested, properly interested, in food. Everyone else liked eating. But he and Ron could sit around for hours, pouring over magazines and cookbooks and dreaming up new wild things to purée, sauté, and flambé.

“You’d really have to get an acidic thing going,” Florian said with his eyes shut. He always had to see his way into recipes. “Or it’ll just taste basic.”

“Balsamic? Or is that too obvious.”

“It’s obvious because it’s fucking class, but,” Florian paused. “It would depend on the mango.”

“Oh, I read a good poem the other day,” Harry interjected. Florian’s eyes snapped open.

“Is this related?”

Harry was the Emperor of Deviations. Empress of Divagations? Emperor should be a non-binary word, but Florian wasn’t sure. Emprex?

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said. “Ok, so it’s a riddle kind of, from this guy in the court of the Delhi sultanate. Amir Khusrow?”

Ron and Florian looked at them blankly.

They shook their head, bit their lip, and then, in a slightly lilting tone, recited: “He visits my town once a year. He fills my mouth with kisses and nectar. I spend all my money on him.”

Affecting a slightly different voice, Harry continued, “Who, girl, your man?”

“No,” they said with a grin, “A mango.”

Ron groaned.

“You fucking cheeky bastard. Of course.” He half-heartedly swiped at Harry.

Harry grinned and danced out of Florian’s reach.

And if that wasn’t just fucking poetic, Florian thought, and rolled off the couch onto the floor. “Gotta head back to the shop.”

“Thanks for the ice creams!”

“Well, you know,” Florian said as he paused before opening the door. “It’s a Fortescue’s sworn duty to keep a Potter in ice cream.”

Harry blew him a kiss.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	12. Subject: Concerning Module 3

⍒ _Ministry of Magic Interdepartmental Memo_ ⍋  
To: J. Clarke-Rodríguez, Department of Continuing Education  
From: H. Buttonwillow, Sociatrix Division  
Privacy Level: Wand-Secured between Recipients, Confidential Client Information Enclosed  
Subject: Concerning Module 3 

Hi Jason,

Just wanted to check in with you about what Module 3 in the Respecting the Non-Magical World Curriculum is. I just had one of my monthly check ins with Draco and he just kept mumbling about “module 3” and he “didn’t know.” He seems disturbed by something that might have happened in class, or perhaps the content of the module? 

It doesn’t seem like it’s going to provoke some kind of violent crisis or negative backsliding, as he seems more confused than anything else, but I would love to be able to provide Draco more resources about the topic. Or if you wanted to bring it up after class or reach out to him, but in a calm, low-key way—he’s still quite fragile in many ways. I know he didn’t get off to the greatest start in RNMWC, and I thoroughly appreciate you being willing to give him another chance. 

Thanks! 

best,

Hesperide

⍒ ⍋

⍒ _Ministry of Magic Interdepartmental Memo_ ⍋  
To: H. Buttonwillow, Sociatrix Division  
From: J. Clarke-Rodríguez, Department of Continuing Education  
Privacy Level: Wand-Secured between Recipients, Confidential Client Information Enclosed  
Subject: Re: Concerning Module 3

Hi Hesperide,

Thanks for letting me know about Draco’s confusion. Module 3 is titled “Identity and Biology,” and covers the wide variety of non-magical races (and how human race is a construct with very real and horrible historical and contemporary effects), body types and shapes, disabilities, illnesses and diseases (with a very brief overview of non-magical medical treatments), genes/genotypes/phenotypes/DNA (and the recent research into the presence of magical genes that remain unexpressed in non-magic users), gender and sexuality, and some of the contemporary beauty standards (and more importantly, stereotypes) that pervade in the non-magical world. The last isn’t my favorite part, but MoM demands it, because this class is _still_ entrenched in the idea that magic users just need to learn how to “pass” long enough in the non-magical world if they get “stuck” until they can escape back into the magical world. Hence Dawlish’s pressure on me to include “beauty” as a key component of non-magical identity education; I’ve tried to massage the lesson, but ugh. It subtly reinforces the division between the worlds, because the magical world is just as influenced by the same Eurocentric beauty standards, but I’m not supposed to get into that.

As far as I remember the session, Draco didn’t actually say anything the entire time. Which was odd, because he’s usually … willing to share his views. 

I don’t really know what would help him come to terms with the information in module 3, because there’s thousands of books about each subject we sprint past. 

If you find out what he’s confused or concerned about, please let me know. 

jcr

⍒ ⍋

─────── ⎎ ─────── 


	13. “Isn’t that a phrase?” Susan wondered.

“Darling, what are you reading? You seem stressed.”

Susan Bones ripped her eyes away from the letter and blinked at her girlfriend.

“What?”

“Oh, darling,” Astoria said with loving irritation. “Nevermind.”

But it wasn’t nevermind, really, Susan realized, because she was entwining her long fingers through Susan’s unruly hair and dropping her chin down onto Susan’s shoulder and reading the letter.

“You’re not going to be entertained,” Susan said dryly.

“‘And I haven’t been able to find a single phellodendron, even though I’ve spent hours looking and even more hours trying to train Draco to spot one’—Draco?”

“What?”

Susan had been several lines ahead, to where Neville had outlined his search methods, and that, frankly, was where the entire problem lay, because you couldn’t just set out to look for a phellodendron. They could tell you were coming. You had to wander around with nothing in your head except a general admiration of nature’s beauty and then, bam! They’d stop feeling shy and lower their chlorophyll levels enough for their crystalline iridescence to shine.

“Draco? As in, Draco Malfoy?”

“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Susan said. She was halfway through the next paragraph (Neville wasn’t even labelling his emotional state while collecting?! How were any of his samples going to be cataloged with the __Serpentine Botanica__ standards?) when she realized Astoria’s breathing had gone … weird.

“Neville’s friends with Draco?”

She’d moved back to her side of Susan’s kitchen table and was doing that thing where she examined the ends of her blonde curls for split hairs. Which she never had. Because she did hair masks and spent thousands of galleons on her hairdresser and tonics and whatever else she did in the bathroom that smelled so good and made her hair so soft.

Susan was getting sidetracked again.

“Uh, no. Neville’s doing some kind of charity work where Draco’s like a horrible field assistant.”

“Horrible?”

“Oh, no, no, not morally. Horrible like, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.” Susan stared back at the letter. “Neville would have a better collecting season without him. But like, he has a heart the size of a, uh, dustbin or a breadbox or something.”

Astoria looked blank.

“Heart the size of a … thing. That’s a phrase. Isn’t that a phrase?” Susan wondered.

Astoria grimaced.

“A heart is the size of a fist, so it has to be bigger than a fist.” Susan wrinkled her forehead in concentration. “Maybe it was a dad phrase.”

Her dad was from Ventura, California. He’d dropped acid in London, knocked up Susan’s mum, and fucked off to Australia before she’d realized she was pregnant. Cue several years of detectives and spells until he’d walked into Susan, literally kicked her in the back of the head by accident because he was looking at the top of the Nelson monument and she was sitting underneath it on a school field trip and her mum, summoned by the magical flare he’d inadvertently triggered, had screamed so many bad words that Mrs. McNulty had to send a letter home of apology with the rest of the year fours. But then there was some kissing, and he’d moved in the next week and made them eat hummus and do yoga and polluted Susan’s brain with strange words.

Astoria Elodie Greengrass had not grown up in a council house.

“So he’s out then,” Astoria said in a flat voice.

“Does he—does it, like, come back?” Susan asked, reaching one hand across the table.

The marriage contract, that was. The contract that had bound Astoria Elodie Greengrass, age six and one half, to Draco Malfoy, age seven. Bound in blood to co-mingle their bloodlines. Bound together until death do them part.

“I’m not sure.”

Bound even though Astoria, encouraged by the Potter-led changes at Hogwarts, had come out as a lesbian at seventeen and sent shockwaves through the upper crust of the magical world. __Did you hear about the Greengrass girl? I mean, it’s one thing at Hogwarts, but to continue that sort of behavior after school.__

But it wasn’t their world anymore, and Astoria had what they really craved: social capital. She was one of the few golden Slytherins, profiled in the __Quibbler__ , invited to Potter clique events, speaker at Hogwarts’ graduations. So her father relented and her mother recanted.

Astoria sighed. “I guess I should Floo Bertram.”

“Well,” Susan said, holding her arms out until Astoria deviated from her journey towards the fireplace and hugged her, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll fight Malfoy for your hand.”

Astoria giggled, but Susan could tell there was a damp patch forming on her flannel.

“I’ll beat his tiny snake ass, too,” she said and glared at the letter. “I don’t know if it’s tiny, technically, and the snake was metaphorical, you know, because I don’t know what a snake ass would look like on a human, because a snake has a tail, but you know, Slytherin’s symbol—”

“Was a snake,” Astoria interrupted. “I don’t need you to Huffsplain my own house mascot.”

Susan kissed her.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	14. “Christmas goose,” said Andromeda.

He was settling in fine, Andromeda thought. As fine as anyone who was clearly traumatized from being incarcerated in a maximum security magical prison from age seventeen to twenty-five, could be, anyway.

His twenty-sixth birthday had brought a box of fancy chocolates and a gilt-edged card signed with the initial N delivered to Sirius’s Floo. _Wonder who that’s from_ , Sirius quipped as his head floated among the green flames. _It reeks of her perfume._

Ridiculous Black theatricality, Andromeda thought, while considering throwing the entire box of chocolates right back into the fireplace to incinerate them. She wasn’t exempt.

His hair was starting to come back. He was bent over the _Guardian,_ scratching the answers to the crossword in with a fountain pen—he point-blank refused to recognize a biro as a writing implement—and worrying his bottom lip with his other fingers.

“Do you have class today?”

She couldn’t keep his schedule straight. There was the non-magical class, some other thing about being anti-blood purity, the thing with Neville. She knew she should be properly tracking all this shit, but he still couldn’t leave the house unaccompanied and he didn’t even have a wand.

“No,” he said evenly. “I get my wand back today.”

Draco looked up at her. His face was so flat. Not physically, she thought with a surge of irritation. His nose was pointy enough.

He was waiting to perform until she had indicated what emotion would be acceptable in this situation.

Remus said Harry used to do the same thing. “It’s the abuse,” he’d said with a tight grin. “They don’t know what to expect, ever. There’s all this … re-learning to feel. Like, physically feel things.” He’d dropped some books at the cottage.

“Oh,” Andromeda said, shooting for warm and encouraging. “That means everything’s going along as it was planned. That’s good. How are you feeling about getting your wand back?”

His eyes slid off her face. “Fine.”

“What’s the first spell you’re going to do?” Warm and encouraging. “Lumos? Flagrate? Aguamenti?”

“Well,” he said, “I was thinking of a good old A.K.”

Andromeda’s stomach froze. So much for warm and encouraging.

But this was just the thing he did and kept doing. The thing where he snapped back into aggression if he felt she was babying him. But he fucking deserved to be babied, if that’s what he thought kindness was.

“Ah, who are you gonna kill then?” Andromeda said lightly.

The therapist had suggested she counter with more positivity. The therapist also wore linen well into November.

“I’m going to get cremated, so it would save everyone a lot of time if you just incendio’d me.”

A smile flickered at the corner of Draco’s mouth, then vanished.

“How could you imagine that I’d do such a horrible thing, auntie?”

His eyes were dancing across her face. Andromeda raised her eyebrows.

“I simply meant Accio Katafractaria,” he said blandly. As though butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“Oh, is that one of your plants?”

She bustled over to the toaster and plunked two more pieces inside.

“Neville hasn’t been able to find one.”

“What is it?”

“It’s kind of, er, well, here,” he said, and flipped to the business section. Neither of them cared about stocks. Andromeda wasn’t even quite sure what they were, but that nice bank manager sent her a letter each year reporting that her dividends were going up or something. That was a Ted thing, investments. Bless him.

A few minutes later, the toast popped up.

“A bit like that,” Draco said and slid the paper across to her.

He’d sketched something that looked like a succulent, but instead of fleshy, smooth lobes, these had strange ridges and loops that looked a bit like chain mail.

“Does it do something?”

He buttered a piece of toast.

“It’s a plant; does it have to do something?”

“Well, no,” Andromeda said with her mouth full of toast. “But if Neville wants it, it probably does something.”

Draco drew the paper back towards him. “He thinks it could make healing potions stronger.”

“Ah, well, a worthy spell.” She finished her toast. “When are they coming for you?”

He fished a silver pocket watch out of his robes and rose. “Seven and a half minutes.”

“Oh, DRACO!” Andromeda yelled after him as he thudded up the stairs. His footsteps stopped.

“YES?” he yelled back, and she grinned in the kitchen. He used to come back into the room and, almost as though he was being puppeted, recite, “Pardon, I missed what you were saying. Please repeat it?”

“SIRIUS AND REMUS ARE COMING FOR CHRISTMAS.”

The thumping started again, then there was a bit of crashing in his room, and fuck, maybe she’d overdone it once again.

But he came back with a pointed hat—as if anyone wore those anymore, but he could do him, and besides, the hair thing was clearly still a point of self-consciousness—and lurked in the doorway, shifting from one foot to another.

“Sirius?” he seemed unsure. She hadn’t seen that before.

“And Remus.”

“Why?”

“Uh, it’s Christmas?” Andromeda proffered. “It’s a family holiday, usually? They’re what we’ve got? Sirius doesn’t know how to cook a goose, anyway.”

“Goose?”

“Christmas goose,” Andromeda said. “Kreacher has finally given in and lets me cook it.”

“And they’re choosing to spend it with us because?”

An _us._ At least that was progress.

“Well, Sirius is my cousin so he’s your uncle once removed or something. And he likes me.” Andromeda raised her eyebrows. “And he’s a bazillionaire, so he always gives good presents. Last year he brought me a thirty-year Lagavulin.”

Draco scrunched his nose. “And er, Remus?”

“Remus’s presents are more of the knitted variety, lovely and lumpy and very warm.”

“Er, no,” Draco said, studying his pocket watch again, “Why is Remus coming to us for Christmas? Is he your friend?”

Andromeda tried not to let her confusion show. “He’s Sirius’s husband, so they spend Christmas together.”

Draco snapped his pocket watch shut. “What?"

“They’re married?”

“Yeah, it’s been like, oh, goodness, five years?” Andromeda bit her thumb. “Six? Shit, I should know stuff like this. Ted used to have this calendar of everyone’s birthdays but I think I lost it or maybe Tonks took it to Hogwarts, I just don’t know, and then I never got another one, so I’m just all at sea now, but—”

“That’s allowed?”

“What?”

He was looking odd again, Andromeda thought. Maybe she shouldn’t have sprung this on him before he went off to do something important.

“Oh, very allowed. It’s always technically been legal, magically, anyway, well, according to magical law, but there was the whole,” Andromeda sighed and waved her hands around, “Closeting and blood purity thing in the 80s, so it wasn’t like, talked about. But it’s always been legal.”

Draco blinked rapidly. “It’s not, it’s not—Mr. Lupin didn’t—” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “curse Sirius?”

“What? No,” Andromeda said. She was completely at fucking sea now and wished that nice little sociatrix was here. She always seemed to know what to say. “Sirius isn’t a werewolf.”

“So it wasn’t an accidental mating?”

“No?”

Andromeda tented her hands.

“They said this was, you know, in the mug—non-magical world, you know, alright, that is, but, here, Sirius, a Black—”

“He’s a Lupin, technically.”

Draco’s eyes widened.

“Mr. and Mr. Lupin?”

“Dr. and Mr. Lupin, I think, or is it Mr. and Dr. Lupin?”

At Draco’s face, she clarified, “Remus is a GP.”

Draco started fiddling with his pocket watch. “Here,” he said slowly.

Andromeda nodded, then realized he wasn’t looking at her, so said emphatically, “Yes.”

There was a crack and Otto Pembroke stumbled against the kitchen table. He was the only fucking one who didn’t apparate outside the cottage and knock like a normal person because, what, he wanted to catch Andromeda and Draco summoning demons or easting on non-magical babies.

“Right, Malfoy,” he barked. “Come here.”

“Nice to see you too, Otto,” Andromeda snapped. “Draco and I were having a conversation.”

Draco shook his head at her a tiny bit, his eyes on the side of Pembroke’s face.

“You know, Otto, I think I feel like an outing today, too,” Andromeda said. “Let me just get my hat.”

─────── ⎎ ───────


	15. xxx, the Flint-Woods

Dear family, friends, ex-rivals, ex-lovers, and sundry acquaintances,

Welcome to our first family Christmas letter, where you all can be treated to self-deprecating notes on our successes and a glossy bandage applied over all our failures. Compare your own lives and weep (just kidding! Please don’t!).

2006 has been a momentous year for the Flint-Woods!

 **January** was a disaster; Marcus tore his rotator cuff battering a bludger during a Wanderers’ friendly against the Magpies (the Magpies made it even worse), and it quickly became clear that his days as a beater were over. (Let the record state that Oliver was even more depressed than his husband who’d just suffered a career-ending injury.)

We celebrated our fourth anniversary in **February** , because, yes, we are those romantics who got married on Valentine’s Day. 4 years of marriage! Who would have thought when we were glaring daggers at each other on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch?! (Turns out there’s something called ~unresolved sexual tension~ that you’ll figure out in your 20s, kids. Bone your enemies. It’ll be great.)

 **March** was okay. Whoever said April was the cruelest month didn’t have to live through the coldest March on record with no good flying days. In **April** , we took a minibreak to Magaluf. Oliver got an amazing tan and Marcus probably got skin cancer.

 **May, June** and **July** were filled with Marcus applying to thousands of jobs while Oliver trained as hard as ever for the Montrose Magpies. At least Marcus can cheer for the Magpies now! But we started seriously thinking about what we wanted to do with our lives. Obviously flying would be involved, but what else?!

On **August** 3, we floo’d to Australia to witness the birth of our goddaughter, Artemis Weasley, to proud parents Angelina and Frederick Weasley. 8 pounds and 2 ounces of pure joy! We’ve already been instructed to tell everyone not to call her Artie. August also brought the Quidditch World Cup, where Oliver kept a clean sheet for Scotland, who still went out in the semifinals. Even Artie couldn’t cheer up Uncle Ollie.

 **September** 1 brought a new challenge when Marcus started as Hogwarts’ Quidditch coach and flying instructor! We’ve heard all your questions and are going to set the record straight. We did not kill Madame Hooch and Marcus is not wearing her pointed boots. She’s retired to a beautiful little cottage near her beloved Puddlemere (we knew all along she was partisan). Marcus has some very nice new Quidditch leathers that Oliver’s enjoying when he’s not working like a dog for the Magpies. Maybe Hogwarts needs two flying instructions, Minnie?

 **October** was great, except Hufflepuff was already first in the school Quidditch tourney. We’re impartial, though, so, good job, Puffs! **November** brought Marcus’s first broken-bone-mending as The Person In Charge, and he carried it off with aplomb. However, the downside of your husband ripping his shirt off to make it into a sling is that now every Hogwarts student is in love with the broad shoulders and big heart that lurk beneath his gruff exterior.

And by **December** , we’d gotten sick of begging Fred and Angie to let us visit more often and decided to lure them back by deciding we’d have a baby of our own. Checkmate, Weasleys. Marcus is craving ginger ice cream and boiled peanuts, which are a weird American food we first tried during the 2001 QWC and are just about impossible to buy pre-made in the UK. Dear baby, stop making your dad want boiled peanuts, love, your other father who’s losing his fingerprints shelling raw peanuts. Please send us any and all pregnancy and childcare tips!

Warmest wishes for a festive season!

xxx,

The Flint-Woods

─────── ⎎ ───────

𝔐𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔶 ℭ𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔪𝔞𝔰  
𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔨𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔞𝔱  
𝔊𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔰 𝔚𝔦𝔷𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔅𝔞𝔫𝔨

─────── ⎎ ───────

𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕣𝕪 𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕞𝕒𝕤  
Love and kisses from Ron and Hermione  
 _Harry, darling, can’t wait to see you on Christmas Eve at the Burrow. xxxx_

─────── ⎎ ───────

°☆*°☆*°☆*°☆*°☆*°☆*°☆

 **HELLO BLESSED ONES ~**  
We wish you the merriest of seasons at this festive time of year! Our year has been filled with the most amazing realizations and vibrations, from a beautiful escape to Siberia to Ginny’s Guy Fawkes Day proposal! We can’t wait to celebrate everything with you, our beloved friends!  
Love and hugs,  
Luna & Ginny

°☆*°☆*°☆*°☆*°☆*°☆*°☆

P.S. Don’t forget to bless your local Grackle! Leave out some crusts soaked in milk on Christmas Eve (next to the carrots for the Klausian reindeer)!  
 _P.P.S. HARRY, WE MISS YOU. PLEASE COME TO THE BURROW EARLY._  
 _Especially because Luna wants to ask you something._  
 _It’s not marriage, dw, I’ve already swooped in on that one xx G_

─────── ⎎ ───────

◐ ◒ ◑ ◓  
 **Remus John Lupin**  
 **M.D., O.M.**

PRESENTS

  * S: leather conditioning spell (and balm) — owl Živojin Ogrin
chocs, order from Florian 
    * ???? handcuffs???
    * Beard product/lotion thing
  * Harry: rainbow sequin jacket thing
    * Try to find more photos of James during his male model phase
    * Film? What kind of camera do they have?
    * Chocolates, duh
  * Kreacher: new potholders
  * Letty: ergonomic keyboard wrist rest, chocolates
  * Molly/Weasley family: chocolates, ask S about sending over a few bottles of that good red for their Christmas dinner
  * Andy: Lagavulin (S bought, need to wrap)
  * Draco: ??????? ??????? ASK S????????????
    * Possible ideas: tie? Tie clip? Wizard hat tip topper? Flask? Paperweight? Wand cleaning kit?
    * Tattoo balm???
    * ASK ANDY
    * A good pen???



Florian chocolates ****

  * Bourbon, whiskey, dark, smoky flavors for Sirius
  * Letty prefers white chocolate??? Is there a way to tell Florian that won’t make him hate us forever
  * Harry: buttercream with sprinkles, also sea foam, brittle, etc. anything that’ll break their teeth off
  * Weasleys: largest assorted box



BUY MORE WRAPPING PAPER 

─────── ⎎ ───────

 _Hi Remus, think you didn’t mean to send me this, but I’m excited about the rainbow jacket, I have a Polaroid 600, and MY DAD WAS A MODEL ???? WHEN. PLEASE. FIND THOSE PICTURES. xx Harry_ _P.S. Go for the handcuffs. ;)_

─────── ⎎ ───────

_Harry,_

_Thanks for returning my note. Was trying to send you the attached Christmas card, but I delivered a baby the night (morning, really) before Sirius was coming back and he had ordered me to post all the cards before his return, which … obviously didn’t happen. Christmas cards aren’t exactly a priority for me, but old social habits die hard when you’re to the manor born. But I think he just likes the opportunity to flaunt his success (and me, good Lord) to the Most Ancient Order of Sad Fucks. I didn’t write this, clearly. But I love my husband and value my gonads, so I’ve dutifully sent them off. Glad it was you that got my notes and not Molly. Or Andy._

_RJL_

_P.S. I did, but we can never talk about this again. Love you, kiddo._

┍━━━━━━━♚━━━━━━━┑

𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔯𝔶 𝔠𝔥𝔯𝔦𝔰𝔱𝔪𝔞𝔰

Hello dearly beloveds,  
Remus and I have had a wonderful  
2006 and hope yours wasn’t the  
at’s end of a stick. We’re still  
happily occupying Grimmauld,  
raising Cain with good homosexual  
cheer to jazz up those dreary family  
portraits. Dr. Lupin is on a quest to  
lower everyone’s blood pressure, so  
if you’re sadly not married to the  
World’s Hottest Werewolf (awarded  
1969), take up jogging or something.  
Our darling Harry is out there forcing  
the world into a more loving, kind  
place through their work with  
Conciliatio and just about everything  
they do. Chuck a Galleon in that  
direction to make up for your blood  
purist sins, should the ghosties of  
Christmas past come knocking.  
Otherwise, eat a shitload of pudding  
and ham or nut loaf, drink a vat  
of eggnog and give a rouse for  
whatever floats your boat.  
We love you.  
xxxxxxxxxxx  
Mr. (& Dr.) Lupin

𝔪𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔲𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔯𝔰

┕━━━━━━━♚━━━━━━━┙


	16. Sociatrix Community Service Final Report

**Sociatrix Community Service Final Report**  
 **Client Name:** Draco Malfoy  
 **Community Member Name:** Neville F. Longbottom  
 **Location:** Northumberland National Park, Kielderhead National Nature Reserve, Kielder Forest Park  
 **Hours Completed/Hours Required:** 267/250 (I think. Probably more. The lack of tracking is definitely my fault; Draco definitely exceeded 250 hours.)  
 **Date of Report:** December 15, 2006

Please use the following scale where appropriate: 

  * 0 = No Progress / Willful non-Compliance
  * 1 = Less than Expected Progress / Pattern of non-Compliance
  * 2 = Expected Progress (Sufficient Progress or Improving) / Pattern of Compliance
  * 3 = Completed Activity or Exceeded Expectations



**Has the client participated in the activities you planned or arranged?** 3\. (Great improvement from the midterm report, which was, I think, a 1.)

 **What activities did you plan? Which ones worked and which did not—from your point of view or from the client’s perceived interest level or cooperation?** Draco assisted me in collecting botanical samples for herbological studies, for my own academic studies and for others who requested samples. This was largely manual labor (digging, hiking, walking, hauling, crawling, camping, pruning, etc.). This was difficult for Draco at first, who seemed to be suffering from a combination of malnutrition and PTSD, but I realized this and tried to adjust our activities. Gradually, he was able to work his way up to more intense hiking, hauling, and chopping. I prefer not to use magic while collecting, as human-related magical spikes can disturb botanical magical networks, so there wasn’t a great shift in our activities after Draco got his wand back. He seemed most interested in the magical effects or abilities of plants, rather than the processes of collecting, which is hardly surprising, given what I knew of him at Hogwarts (not a field work bloke, no slight on him personally, just … a different type of personality). Magical plants are fascinating!

**What competencies have been strengthened?**

  * _Academic Skills_
  * _Independent Living Skills_ — he can chop wood now, but not sure if this is relevant to “ordinary” magical life; also plant identification skills have increased, ditto
  * _Moral Reasoning_ ☑ 2
  * _Prosocial, Interpersonal_ ☑ 2
  * _Workforce development_ ☑ 1 (?) Just not sure if Draco has any further interest in herbology or botany, so this is more of a topical problem rather than a Draco-related 1 rating. We never discussed career-related stuff, at least as it related to Draco. He was curious about my work, but I don’t know if this was politeness or a deeper interest. I think he was interested in the magical plants (see above).



**How well do you feel the client is prepared for integration into an academic or career-related environment?** Yes. 3.

 **Do you have concerns about further re-integration?** No. Well, maybe. Draco is still suffering mentally, though he would never admit this. I’ve worked with enough students to understand when someone might have been traumatized, and I think the Sociatrix Department should encourage Draco to seek mental health help. I’m not sure he would know what mental health is, so this topic might need to be handled gently.

 **Do you have any suggestions regarding this client’s future or insights that you think may help the Sociatrix Department in supporting this client’s re-integration?** See above.

 **Would you be willing to work with this client in the future?** Yes. I’ll be in Northumberland for another two months and would like to request the ability to keep working with Draco for plant collection. He was amenable to this suggestion when I proposed it (if, of course, MoM approves). I have a grant that could pay hourly minimum wage, so if there is some kind of employment credit or part of Draco’s rehabilitation/probation process, I would be willing to fill out whatever paperwork is necessary.

 **Would you be willing to work with another client in our probation program?** Yes.

 **Please include any other comments here.** I know Draco is taking some kind of non-magical world course through the Ministry, and think it might be helpful for anyone who’s working with one of your clients to get a copy of the syllabus or program. I think he wanted to discuss some of the topics (“modules”??) but I often didn’t quite understand what he was alluding to. It would be good to be more aware of the other parts of the probation program so we could provide a more integrated experience.

 **Signature:** Neville Franklin Longbottom

─────── ⎎ ───────


	17. “Oh, that little blond boy?” Fleur asked.

The days of Christmas shenanigans at the Burrow were enough to drive anyone mad. At least Molly didn’t hate her anymore, but there were just too many Weasleys for there to be even a moment of peace and quiet.

Fleur sighed and pressed a kiss into baby Gabrielle’s soft hair. She still smelled like baby. Fleur’s heart choked. Soon she’d be like Victoire, running around and bashing her toes and talking, but right now, just for a few more months, Gabrielle would still smell like baby.

She wanted to crawl back into bed and nestle down with her littlest one.

But that was a pipe dream. Bill yelled up the stairwell something about the car seat, which didn’t really make sense because they were taking an international portkey, but she settled Gabrielle into the sling.

Pushing open the intricately carved wooden shutters, Fleur leaned out the window and yelled, “What?”

Her husband glanced up.

God, he was hot.

“Can you get the car seat?” He had Victoire firmly by one hand. “I think Dad might have bought a car and he’s sure to want to take the kids. Plus it’ll be a good booster seat for dinner for some people.”

“No, papa,” Victoire whined. “No seat.”

“I know you’re a big girl, Vic,” Bill said, lifting her up and setting her on his hip. “But grandma thinks you’re little still, so sometimes we have to pretend you’re little to make Grandma Molly happy. Can you keep the secret with me?”

She nodded seriously.

Bill glanced up towards his wife and winked.

Fleur felt her insides grow hot. It shouldn’t be allowed to wink at your wife while standing in an alleyway in Cairo. That should be a law. Against. That. A law. Fucking fuck. There wasn’t time to deal with that explosion of desire. They were late already.

Oh, right, the car seat.

─────── ⎎ ───────

At least they’d been able to skip the eve of Christmas Eve this year, since, as Fleur had pointed out to her husband—she loved saying that, thinking it, running her hand across Bill’s arm at a restaurant or as an introduction, thinking that he was hers, all hers, the father of her children, the sudden sunlight dream explosion of a million romantic thoughts she’d always denied or subsumed into charmwork because falling in love was stupid and then, there he was, and now he was her husband—no one else even thought that was a holiday.

“Penultimate Christmas Eve,” Bill said.

“That’s not a real holiday,” Fleur insisted.

He narrowed his eyes at her.

“It’s not!” she said, and stamped her foot. Whether it was a stupid English thing or a Weasley family thing made no difference. It wasn’t real.

“It’s not real, is it?” he asked, his voice growing husky.

Ah, they were playing that game today. It was getting close to the full moon.

“No, it’s absolutely not real,” Fleur said. “It’s clearly a Weasley delusion.”

“Weasley delusion, hmm,” Bill half-growled, grabbing her waist. “Don’t know if I quite believe that.”

“Luckily I only have one deluded Weasley on my hands.”

Fleur tossed her head. As if that didn’t just oh so casually bare the side of her neck.

“Fleur? Fleur?”

“Sorry, pardon?” Fleur snapped back to the present, where her sister-in-law was asking if she wanted sparkling or still water.

“Or, you know, champagne or eggnog, but I assumed you wouldn’t be drinking because of Gabby, but, I don’t know what we’re supposed to be doing or not doing nowadays,” Angelina said.

Thank fuck it was Angelina.

“We brought some wine,” Fleur said. “I think Molly took it somewhere. But water is fine.”

“So, what were you thinking about?” Angelina bumped her hip into Fleur’s with a grin.

“Ugh, what do you think?”

“Ah, ye old Weasley dick. A blessing and a curse.”

Fleur groaned. “I keep thinking it’ll wear off one day.”

“If you’d told fifteen year-old me that my true love was one of the Weasley twins, I’d have slapped you.” Angelina shook her head, then her gaze softened as Fred entered the room. “They were terrors. Spotty, weedy, ginger terrors.”

“Spotty, weedy, ginger terror? Must be me,” Fred said, sidling up and wrapping his arms around her.

“I might have meant George, or any of your more handsome brothers.”

“Oh, darling, I was the spotty, weedy, ginger terror for you. Always.”

“Where’s our child?”

“Commandeered by the grandmama,” Fleur said. “She gathers all the babies to her like an extremely powerful magnet.”

Fred nodded. “She’s a supernatural force.”

“She’s got the magnetic power the Hadron Collider will have,” Fleur mused.

“The what?”

Luckily, before she had to try to explain non-magical particle physics (gravity had almost led to a familial schism two years ago), they heard the front door open and cheerful shouts filtered through the house. Hermione, snow melting in her hair, Ron, his freckled cheeks red with the cold, and Harry, cheerful red and green glitter splashed across their eyelids, entered the living room laden with presents.

“Where are Sirius and Remus?” Fleur asked Harry, once things had settled back down and they had curled up on the couch. Harry understood that it was all a bit much. “Are they coming later? Or tomorrow?”

“Ah, no. They’re having tonight at home which,” Harry raised an eyebrow, “I’m pretty sure has something to do with some of the more exotic presents Remus chose.”

Fleur hummed.

“And tomorrow—” a shadow passed over Harry’s face. “Tomorrow they’re going to Andromeda’s.”

“Andromeda? I don’t think I know her.”

“Tonks’ mum.”

“Oh.” Fleur’s heart sank.

It wasn’t fair that Tonks was gone. Tonks, of all people. The most stubbornly vivacious of them all. She was Fleur’s first English friend. Probably because she seemed entirely immune to any veela powers and had punched Fleur in the arm upon meeting her while submitting some treasure captured in a raid for appraisal at Gringotts. Tonks fell over her own feet, but not thanks to attraction. Merely thanks to super long shoelaces. Fleur had taught her the shoe-tying charm and they were friends, just like that.

“I never got to meet her,” Fleur said, because Harry was giving off a weird vibe.

“I just don’t know why they chose to do it this year,” Harry said, then swigged some eggnog. Vile stuff. Cloying.

“This year?”

“Like, when Malfoy’s there, why did they go this year?”

“Oh, that little blond boy?”

Harry sat up and put their hand on Fleur’s knee. “Malfoy is a git.”

She remembered this whole thing, whatever it was. Bill had said Harry was obsessed with this Malfoy kid, who was the son of some Voldemort follower, and who seemed to be generally a dick, but most teenage boys were horrible. The intricacies of whatever Hogwarts-centric drama or whatever this was escaped her.

She and Bill had left for Norway the moment the dust from the war settled. He’d been working on his dissertation on the theory that the fjords were created by prehistoric giant rune-writing when Voldemort had seized power, and they had field work to do. Then Fleur had started her work in Paris and now they were in Cairo, Bill was on sabbatical, and she got to spend most days measuring amulets for the morphological project, and she’d just heard there might be this—

Wait, wasn’t he the kid who’d thrown the wand to Harry?

Fleur tilted her head and patted Harry’s hand.

“He is!” Harry insisted, glaring at Fleur’s hand.

“He’s not like thirteen anymore, so he’s probably not a git.” Fleur studied Harry’s face. “An asshole, maybe. What happened?”

Harry settled back into the couch, untangling their hand from Fleur’s and wrapping their arms around their knees. “He’s just out of Azkaban.”

“That tends to fuck with a person,” Fleur said.

“Yeah,” they said. “I know.”

There was some silence. Well, it could hardly be called silence when they were surrounded by a wall of conversation, Celestina Warbeck, the sounds of children’s shrieks, and the occasional pop of a cracker.

“I just, I don’t know why they went to see Malfoy instead of coming here.” Harry shut their eyes.

“Oh, darling,” Fleur said, her maternal hearth swelling as she wrapped an arm around them and drew them into her side. “They’re not like, picking him over you. They probably just thought Andromeda and this … Malfoy would be bored to tears and it would be sad and lonely. But you’ve got all the Weasleys and everyone! And isn’t it fun to be surrounded by forty-five of your nearest and dearest?”

There was a sniffle and a gulp.

“Anyway,” Fleur said, “Remus and Sirius would never, ever abandon you. They love you so much.”

Bill parted the wall of humans in front of their couch. Fleur made a confused face at him, because who knew what the fuck any of this was about, so Bill settled down on Harry’s other side.

“Hey,” Bill said in his gentlest voice. That was the voice for bruised knees and broken hearts and miscarriages and shattered dreams. “It’s ok, mate, whatever it is.”

She shot him a grateful look over Harry’s head.

“It’s Malfoy,” Harry said, resurfacing. They swiped a little at their eyes. Fleur made a noise in the back of her throat, and Harry turned towards her. She ran her finger under each eye to wipe away the smudged eyeliner and errant glitter, then studied them and nodded in approval.

Getting glitter in your eye was a fucking pain. Someone should invent some kind of eye-repellent makeup, which would be fairly simple if you modified its base to be repellent to a particular type of protein that appeared only in the eye with a tracking or repellent spell, but Fleur sighed, remembered she’d given up on chemistry, and refocused.

“What’s he done now?”

She wasn’t sure Bill should just take that tone without knowing anything about what was happening, but it seemed to put Harry at ease as they settled back into the couch.

“He’s having Christmas with Remus and Sirius.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bill said, and Fleur could tell that he was fighting to keep the amusement from his voice. “Fucking devious, that.”

“I’m just,” Harry started chewing on their lip, “He was racist to Remus at school, and I don’t want him to make Remus sad or anything, not at Christmas.”

“Sirius won’t let him be an asshat,” Bill said. “Plus he should know not to fuck with werewolves. We could get him.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and then they realized Bill was joking and allowed themself a small smile.

“So,” Bill continued, stretched one arm around back behind Harry on the couch to touch Fleur’s hair, “Have you seen Malfoy lately?”

“What? No! Why?”

Bill shrugged. “You could always get some data about whether he’s likely to fuck with Remus. Or if I need to come, you know. Menace or something. Bare my canines.”

Fleur rolled her eyes. “Yeah, like he’s really going to be scared of a professor of ancient runes in a battered leather jacket.”

“Hey,” Bill growled. “I have a fang earring.”

Fleur and Harry exchanged a glance. Harry smirked at Bill, then got up and vanished into the crowd.

“I’m a cool dad,” Bill said poutily. He pulled her hair gently and she shifted until she was laying on top of him. He smelled like whiskey and cinnamon, and she looked up at his neck, the white outline of the scars and the ginger bristles glowing in the fairy lights, and he was all hers.

“Oh, I know, darling,” she said, lacing her fingers into his. “You’re a very cool father. You have a fang earring.”

─────── ⎎ ───────


	18. “Woo! 2007!” Lavender said.

Lavender tilted her head at the shape of the tea leaves at the bottom of her cup. _Was that a horse? That wouldn’t be good. But maybe it was more of a pony. It was a bit chubby._

She wasn’t quite sure about the correspondence or the symbolism of a pony. 

_The pony, if it was that, only had three legs. Which could be a sign of something that was incomplete. Or maybe perfectly complete. She didn’t have to be ableist about it._

It didn’t seem like a totally bad sign, though. 

Tea leaves weren’t her thing. She was more of a tarot, crystal ball, photos, clothing, anything solid, kind of seer. She wasn’t into plants. Even if they were dead and boiled. They were still leaves.

Maybe Neville would have an opinion. _Remember to ask him._

She cracked her neck and turned her attention to her lipstick collection. Tonight she was going to get laid. Somehow. With someone. Or at least kiss someone. It had been ages, ugh. Which meant that she had to go for a subtle lipstick—some people were easily intimidated and she couldn’t have even the slightest challenge towards ending this dry spell—and it had to stay put. 

Maybe she should just go for a gloss? 

Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. 

─────── ⎎ ─────── 

The Greengrass mansion was, of fucking course, massive and gorgeous. It was all yellow buttery Bath stone and columns. 

Not that she could see that right now. It was dark as fuck. Glowing orbs hovered along the drive, lighting the way towards the columned front entrance. 

Lavender adjusted her miniskirt. She stopped by the iron gate and pressed one hand against the pilaster. Out of the mumbling of the thousands who’d passed through these gates, a clarion voice rose up, repeating that this was the Greengrass estate, that visitors were welcome and would enjoy hospitality without limits. 

“Lavender?” a voice called out of the darkness.

She turned and her stomach flipped. 

Parvati. 

It was Parvati. 

Parvati Patil. 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

Lavender pressed her back against the pilaster. The voice rose louder and louder. She should fucking step away from the stone. She was too good at talking to it, but she didn’t trust her legs to hold up on their own. 

“Oh, hey,” Lavender said with a bright smile. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Parvati said. She sounded like she meant it. Even after that wine-drunk kiss that led to nothing and nowhere. “You can meet Hector.”

Of course she had a boyfriend. Or a husband. They were getting to be that age. 

Lavender pushed herself off the pilaster and held a hand out. It was gripped firmly by the man hovering by Parvati’s elbow. His dark hair was slicked back. He looked like a fucking weightlifter. In a classy way. It was probably the unbuttoned Oxford. 

She half-heartedly smiled at him and regretted her sparkly hair clips. 

_You’re not a child, Lavender._

_I’m fucking who I want to be, ok. And I’m fucking sparkly. Ok. Ok?_

“Hector Yu,” he said. His teeth were so white. “It’s great to finally meet you, Lavender. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Of course he was an American. 

Parvati was studying her. 

“All good things, I hope,” Lavender said automatically with a giggle. 

This evening was fucked. 

“I met Hector when I was at MACUSA,” Parvati said.

That explained nothing about their relationship. Cool. It’s good and totally chill. Parvati didn’t owe her shit, like, truly, and Lavender was going to be super happy about the fact that she had some kind of boyfriend—she hadn’t seen a ring, but she also couldn’t double-check right now because Parvati’s hands were anchored in the pockets of her maroon pants—but right now she wanted to get plastered. That was the chill, fun explanation. 

It was New Year’s Eve, baby, let’s fucking party. 

─────── ⎎ ─────── 

Two and a half hours later, Lavender had collapsed onto a horsehair couch (slippery motherfucker) and threw her legs over the arm. 

This party was a total wash. Daphne hadn’t invited anyone from Gringotts, Astoria had just stuck to the gays, so it was like Hogwarts 2.0 except for Percy’s boyfriend who obviously didn’t want to suck her face because he was busy debating VAT with the American. Henry. Horace? 

“Is this the singles couch?”

She opened her eyes. Harry was resplendent in some kind of glittering mesh top and high-waisted black pants. A definite look. Harry understood sparkles. 

“Oh, hey, Harry,” she said as they slumped on the couch next to her. “Yeah.”

“Everyone else is like,” they waved a hand around the party, “paired up and they’re not budging because it’s getting closer and closer to midnight.”

“I thought this was going to be more of a dance scene,” she said and pushed herself into a sitting position. “It’s like, canapes and talking about the economy.”

“Woo,” Harry said and rolled his eyes. “That really gets the people going.”

Lavender stuck her tongue out. “Yuck.” 

Harry made a face. 

“So are we just irresponsible members of society?” She snapped her fingers to summon a bottle of Bollinger. Thank Hecate for rich friends. “Aren’t we supposed to care about retirement packages by now? Or at least think they’re interesting?” 

“Always sort of figured I’d get some kind of summons to Being a Real Adult,” Harry said, dropping the final words like a lead weight. “I do want a dog, though.”

“Half credit, but only if you want to get a house with a yard for the dog.” 

“A partner would be jolly,” Harry said and sighed. “But everyone just wants the Boy Who Lived or whatever.” 

“Well, for a start, you’re not a boy,” Lavender said. 

Harry tipped their empty glass at her. “That’s a damn fact.” 

She sloshed some champagne into their glass and then her own, but before she could set the bottle back on the carpet, there was a third glass hovering near her. 

It would be Parvati. 

Lavender was too drunk to be extra polite, so she raised her eyebrows and poured her way too much. It began to bubble over the top when Parvati made a kind of noise in the back of her throat and the champagne immediately stopped bubbling as intensely. 

“Did you just—”

“Wandless?”

Lavender and Harry spoke over each other. 

“Er,” Parvati said and blushed. “It’s not really a, you know. Anyway.”

Lavender and Harry blinked at her. 

“I mean, my wand’s in my back pocket,” she said, spinning around. 

Not that Lavender minded the view. But it was a bit too close to an opportunity to ogle, and one definitely didn’t do that to one’s straight female friends. That was rude. 

“Yep, definitely got a wand in there,” Lavender said, saluting Parvati’s ass with her glass. That sounded really normal. Harry elbowed her in the side before Parvati turned back around. 

“Can I, er, sit?” 

Lavender leaned against the arm of the couch. 

She was concentrating so hard on not allowing her leg to spread out to touch Parvati’s that she had no idea what they were discussing. Something something MACUSA, something auror, investigation, BAME mandate, non-magical blah, blah, blah.

“Champers,” Lavender thought. 

Oh, that was aloud. Parvati and Harry looked confused. 

“It’s New Year’s Eve, champers!” This was a trainwreck. “Woo! 2007!”

“Eyyyyy,” Harry said and made a peace sign. “New year, new me.”

Parvati was biting her bottom lip. “New beginnings.” That didn’t sound like a platitude. It was far too serious.

Almost too honest. 

Lavender leaned forwards to crash her glass into their champagne flutes, just to stop thinking and overanalyzing everything, all the time, shut the fuck up, because it’s all sparkling and it’s all dust. 

Astoria materialized in front of them, hovering several boxes alongside her. “Sparklers,” she said with a smile. “To light on the terrace as midnight strikes.”

“Oh, is it that time already?” 

Was Parvati looking around for Henry? It would make sense. You were supposed to find your person and kiss at midnight, yay.

Harry leapt up from the couch, snatching a box of sparklers, and bounded out the French windows.

“I guess we should follow?” Parvati didn’t get up. 

“Oh, yeah.” There wasn’t a reason to read hesitation into anything. The whole overanalyzing thing had severely backfired last time. “Guess we should take this,” she said and bent to pick up the champagne bottle.

Parvati was still sitting on the couch. 

“Uh, are you coming?” 

Her brown eyes widened and then she shook her head. “I have to find Hector.” 

Lavender would have done the reflexive bisexual peace sign but both her hands were full. “Cool, cool, cool.” 

Her legs felt like they had forgotten how to make a knee work. Bending? Was that a thing? Fucking legs. Disaster knees. 

At least the terrace was dark enough that Lavender could let her smile slip. Of course she had to find Hector. Like. Fair. Totally. Chill. Yay. 2007, woo. Harry bumped against her, three sparklers in each fist, their grinning face lit from below like some kind of bad Halloween jumpscare. Lavender transferred the bottle and flute to one hand, then wrangled one of Harry’s sparklers away from them. 

“TEN!” 

Harry stuck their tongue out.

“NINE!”

Lavender stuck hers out back. 

“EIGHT!”

Someone bumped into her. 

“SEVEN!”

She turned. 

“SIX!”

It was Parvati. 

“FIVE!”

She had one sparkler in each hand.

“FOUR!” 

Where was Hector?

“THREE!” 

She was radiant. 

“TWO!”

She didn’t even need the sparklers. Her smile was enough. 

“ONE!”

Cries of celebration erupted across the terrace. Lavender closed her eyes for a moment. The energy from past celebrations rippling through the flagstone echoed through her chest. Translucent figures in periwigs, panniers, tasseled drop waist dresses, tails and tophats, fatigues, all swimming across the inside of her eyes. They were there, just out of reach. 

A hand dropped onto her arm. 

Lavender opened her eyes. All the other noise fell away. 

“Happy new year, Lavender,” Parvati whispered. 

─────── ⎎ ─────── 


	19. Subject: Electronic Mail

**To:** clarke-rodriguez.j@mom.gov  
**From:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
**Date:** 11:30 am, Jan. 30, 2007  
**Subject:** Electronic Mail

Dear Mr. Jason Clarke-Rodriguez,

Our assignment for Module 8: Technology II was to create an electronic mail address and to send an electronic mail to you. 

Here is the electronic mail. 

I apologize that I could not find the correct button to make the accent in your last name. I do not want to be rude.

Regards,

Draco Malfoy 

aka

draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk

҉ 

**To:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
**From:** clarke-rodriguez.j@mom.gov  
**Date:** 11:47 am, Jan. 30, 2007  
**Subject:** Re: Electronic Mail

Hi Draco,

Thanks for your e-mail (email is also acceptable). You have successfully completed the assignment. 

You can make an accent by holding down the “option” key (button) and the “e” at the same time, then typing the letter that you want the accent to appear over, in this case i, so it becomes í. I’ll demonstrate this in class (it’s a little complicated). Some computers have different codes or keys, so if it doesn’t work, I just probably gave you the wrong directions for the computer you’re using. 

Jason

PS. You don’t have to sign your real name and include your e-mail address. The e-mail address appears in the “from” section at the top of the e-mail. I like your choice of e-mail address, though. I can tell you considered it carefully.

PPS. E-mail can be a more casual form of communication, as discussed in class. Maybe try sending one to a friend or using an emoticon (a portmanteau of emotion+icon) like :) turn your head to see it as a smiley face. 

҉ 

**To:** clarke-rodriguez.j@mom.gov  
**From:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
**Date:** 9:24 am, Jan. 31, 2007  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Electronic Mail

Dear Jason,

Thank you for the recommendation regarding e-mail etiquette. 

I am using a computer at the local (non-magical) library. It smells of hamster. The accent technique you recommended does not seem to have the desired effect. 

I do not have any friends who use electronic mail. :)

DM

҉ 

**To:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
**From:** clarke-rodriguez.j@mom.gov  
**Date:** 2:04 pm, Jan. 31, 2007  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Electronic Mail

Draco,

The librarian might be able to help you with their particular machines. I’m glad to hear you’re spending time in a non-magical space. Maybe we can discuss your experiences during our next class?

Have you asked Neville if he has an e-mail address? You mentioned in class that he has a computer, so he probably also uses e-mail. :D 

jcr

҉ 

**To:** clarke-rodriguez.j@mom.gov  
**From:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
**Date:** 10:43 am, Feb. 8, 2007  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Re: Electronic Mail

Dear Jason,

The librarian has figured out how to make accents. She had to do some research, as she is not comfortable with the electronic devices either. 

é í ó 

Jason Clarke-Rodríguez

Many of the letters also contain “secret” letters, including ü ö î â ç ß ˚ ¬ ∫ √ µ ñ ø π ∑ œ å Ω. 

Neville does have an e-mail address. :D 

DM

҉ 

**To:** mimbulus_fan80@yahoo.com  
**From:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
**Date:** 10:58 am, Feb. 8, 2007  
**Subject:** Re: Welcome 2 the interwebz

Dear Neville,

How did you insert an image into your message? Is that a real gorilla wearing a tutu? How do non-magical persons control animals like gorillas without suffering bodily harm? What are “interwebz” and why is there a z? Is it Czech?

Draco 

҉ 

**To:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
**From** mimbulus_fan80@yahoo.com  
**Date:** 2:43 pm, Feb. 9, 2007  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Welcome 2 the interwebz

I’ll ask Andy if I can bring you over to my apartment so I can show you on the computer. Explaining it in writing would take too long. 

But interwebz = the internet. It’s the world wide web (like that’s where www comes from). 

The gorilla was probably not really wearing a tutu in real life. 

Nev

҉ 

**To:** mimbulus_fan80@yahoo.com  
**From:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
**Date:** 9:48 am, Feb. 24, 2007  
**Subject:** Re: Re: Re: Welcome 2 the interwebz

Thank you for inviting me to your house. Your demonstration of the various corners of the internet was fascinating. 

The deception you revealed to me via the means of this image manipulation program presents a serious threat to society, on par with the unregulated use and distribution of Polyjuice. Perhaps even worse, as this photographic deception process is far simpler than brewing Polyjuice. Are non-magical persons considering laws against this type of image tampering? The gorilla is one thing, but I can imagine far more nefarious uses. 

I am going to do some “Google” now. 

Draco 

─────── ⎎ ─────── 


	20. Love Potions: How, Or Even, Can We Use Them Responsibly?

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ _Editor’s Miscellania_ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

 **Love Potions: How, Or Even, Can We Use Them Responsibly? An Interview with Romilda Vane**  
Luna Lovegood, _Quibbler,_ February 14, 2007

Romilda Vane began brewing love potions while at Hogwarts, in what she now says was an “extremely misguided at best, and potentially abusive, misunderstanding of the power of chemically-induced manipulation of desire.” In our interview last month at Vane’s laboratory, she shuddered after this sentence. “It could have gone so, so badly.”

“Love potions are fraught,” says Harry Potter, chairperson of Conciliato, a charity dedicated to fighting prejudice and injustice in the magical world, “Because they allow people to manipulate others. They should be treated with the same seriousness as spells of control and coercion such as Imperio.”

Vane agrees. “Traditional ‘love’ potions are extremely dangerous because they remove the necessary element of consent from romantic and sexual relationships. Just as someone who is drunk cannot consent, someone under the effect of a love potion is equally—if not more—incapacitated.”

“What I didn’t understand as a teenager,” she says, “is that there was and is a difference between pure, mutually consenting desire, and manipulating someone into a false or chemically-induced desire. The latter is sexual assault, whether or not it leads to physical sexual contact.”

For a long time, Vane didn’t even manufacture potions relating to lust, desire, or sexuality. “I didn’t want to make a product that could hurt anyone. My first potions were simple healing draughts. You can’t overdose on those, or use them in a harmful way.”

She built her potions business on the back of these ethically-sourced and ethically-minded healing potions. Working with local herbalists from around the world, Vane ensures that fair compensation is paid for the ingredients she uses, whether it’s powdered Peruvian boomslang skin or virgin-harvested mushrooms. She has also been active in importing the high labor standards of non-magical “Fair Trade” practices to the magical world.

But after a friend approached her about brewing a potion to help their lover rekindle their sexual desire after a magical fire mishap, Vane began to reconsider. “They saw me together and explained how this accident had caused some physical or chemical barriers that they didn’t totally understand, but that neither of them could feel the sexual excitement they used to experience, even though both of them desperately wanted to. They wanted something that would help those feelings and emotions re-blossom.”

“I worked for months to parse what ingredients, methods, and incantations in traditional love potions were coercive and which could be used or modified only to amplify feelings or emotions that already existed. Once I’d reached that stage, I added elements of veritaserum as a safeguard to ensure that only honest desire could be expressed.” The couple tried several variations, each of which had a slightly different effect. Only one, which turned the couple’s teeth, mouths, and digestive tracts purple, leading to a few days of unusually florid bowel movements, was scrapped entirely.

The other three underwent a rigorous process of testing and trials and eventually developed into Curavi. The name comes Latin word for “desire,” not as in the wanton lust of “libido,” but as a desire stemming from a sense of love and respect.

Vane has added other safeguards. “The very molecular structure of Curavi potions is destabilized by negative emotions, rendering their magical and chemical effects useless. These potions only work on what’s already there: emotional attunement and attachment are the necessary prerequisites to lead to any exploration of sexual desire.”

Vane now has an entire line of Curavi potions, from the giggle-boosting Giggular (which tastes and looks like honey made by bright pink bees) to the sensuality-heightening Donna, brewed with an extremely diluted tincture of belladonna to slow down and amplify sensations. Your editor has tried many of Vane’s potions over the years, and let her be the first to recommend these new, ethical “love potions” for anyone looking to introduce a new element into their sexual explorations. Go forth, imbibe and procreate joyfully! ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

─────── ⎎ ───────


	21. Harry’s planner, Feb. 2007

◛ **February 2007** ◚

Personal goal: ??? yoga???  
Work goal: submit mom grant

1⟞ ◻ plan out the month —> deadlines ??? ☑double-check c staffing sched.  
2⟞ ❍  
3⟞ ☑check in with Rem + Sirius  
4⟞ ⧉ sunday brunch (Grimmauld) ☑laundry  
5⟞ ☑11: therapy  
6⟞ ⧉ meet ginny @ helen’s, 2:00  
7⟞  
8⟞ ⧉ thurs night social club  
9⟞  
10⟞ ◑  
11⟞ ⧉ Sun brunch (Ponce’s) ◻laundry  
12⟞ ☑11: therapy  
13⟞ ⟡ remember pick up quibbler re: luna  
14⟞ ❤ valentines day lol ☑text r+h  
15⟞  
16⟞  
17⟞ ⬤ ~~⧉ pub?~~  
18⟞ ~~⧉ Sunday brunch~~ ~~◻laundry~~  
19⟞ ⭑ M O M GRANT **DUE** ⭑ ~~◻11: therapy~~  
20⟞ day off work  
21⟞  
22⟞ ⧉ thurs night social club  
23⟞ ⧉ pub trivia with nev + ron  
24⟞ ◐  
25⟞ ⧉ sunday brunch (Grimmauld??)  
26⟞ ◻11: therapy  
27⟞  
28⟞

  


**To do:**  
☑ text nev  
◻ ron’s birthday → ☑ text h re: tacos?! ↔ ☑ text florian re: tacos if h yes // people to invite: ginny, luna, florian, seamus, dean, nev (+ blaise?), george, percy (???) set up floo for fred (time zones??) party games ???  
☑ ron birthday present → WRAP IT  
◻ boots: cotton swabs, nail clipper, concealer, deodorant  
◻ ~~find gloves ****~~buy gloves  
◻ HAIRCUT 

  


─────── ⎎ ─────── 


	22. “I brought scones,” Pansy said.

Pansy Parkinson swallowed and tucked a strand of her black bob behind her ear.

Then she shook it out again.

The front door opened.

A tall, thin blond man appeared in the doorway. She almost wouldn’t have recognized him, but for the brief flash of judgment in his grey eyes. Pansy straightened.

“Draco,” she said.

“Pansy,” he said, and ushered her into the front hall, crammed with coats and wellies. “Sorry about the mess. Neville’s started leaving his spare pair here.”

“Indeed.”

He slammed the door shut. Pansy twitched.

“Sorry,” he said. “It sticks. I should have warned you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Just through there on the right.”

Oh, it was the kitchen. He gestured to one of the mismatched chairs grouped around a pitted wood table. She sat down, keeping her bag on her shoulder.

He moved around the kitchen slowly, doing everything by hand instead of using the wand that was clearly—up his sleeve? He used to wear it there, she remembered, flushing as she was thrown back to kissing him against the damp stone wall of the common room.

“How have you been?” he asked at last, his back to her.

“Uh, you know,” she said, because what do you say to your high school boyfriend who just got out of prison? Everything she thought of—her mandated charity work, her parents’ divorce, the bakery—seemed simultaneously dramatic, bland, pitiful, and delusional. There wasn’t anything that could summarize eight years.

He brought the kettle to the table.

She saw a flash of the old Draco in how he poured their tea, raising the pot higher and higher until Pansy was sure he would spill. But it wasn’t the same as when he’d levitate the Malfoy silver until she snorted into her petit-four.

“Oh, Pansy, how lovely!” Andromeda said as she swept into the kitchen. Pansy half stood, crouching over the table, as Andromeda snatched a glass and left with a trill of goodbye and have fun, darlings.

It was like seeing a dead person eating candy floss.

“Will you sit down,” Draco ordered.

Pansy dropped back into the chair.

“Sorry,” he said, pushing a mug of tea towards her. “You just, I don’t know. Sorry.”

“Old habits,” she said with a wry grin. “Can’t beat the bossy out of you.”

He snorted. “They certainly tried.”

 _Ah, shit, put your foot right in it._ But Draco didn’t seem to think it was awkward.

“I brought scones,” she said and set the box on the table.

“You made these?”

“Uh, yeah,” Pansy said.

“I didn’t know you baked.”

“There are some cheddar and chive and then some ginger ones; I tried to wrap them separately, but it seemed dumb to use two whole boxes for a few scones, but then I hope that doesn’t mean that the flavors have melded,” she rambled. Draco arranged them on another plate.

She felt a sudden urge to smooth her hand over his hair.

“I, uh, learned how to bake,” she forced herself to explain. “My, uh, charity work. With the elves. Laundry and cooking and cleaning. No magic. It was hell at first.”

Draco made a noise of agreement.

“But it turns out I’m not that bad with my hands.”

“I certainly never thought so.”

Was that a—fucking cheeky bastard.

Pansy scoffed. That was the correct response, as though a handjob nine years ago meant something to her heart. And it didn’t, in some ways, it really didn’t, because she didn’t want to see his dick right now, or maybe ever, but there was still a tender spot, that this was more than a toss off in a broom cupboard. It had never been meant to go anywhere, because they all knew about the Astoria thing. The contract thing.

“I’m also good with my tongue,” she said. “Unlike you.”

He kissed like he was trying to devour your face.

“We reviewed that several times,” he said dryly. “I doubt my practical skills would have improved after years of solitary isolation, but I hope that I would be a more, oh, shall we say, considerate, paramour nowadays.”

“Fair,” Pansy said, and bit into a cheddar scone.

They were a little dry.

“Do you have some butter?”

“They’re not that dry,” he said.

“Trust me.”

“Ok, you were right.”

“Butter makes everything better.”

“You pimping for the butter council or?”

Pansy shrugged. “It’s just a truth. I’d be excommunicated as a baker if I didn’t think so.”

“Oh, so you’re a proper baker?”

“Well,” she said, “Greg and I own a bakery. And a restaurant now, I guess.”

He blinked. “Greg?”

“Gregory?”

“Greg is also a baker?”

“Yeah,” she said. “He does the pasties and sandwiches. And the wedding cakes. My hands aren’t quite that steady.”

That eyebrow raise was the same, anyway.

“His roses win awards.”

“Goodness,” Draco said.

“Well, there’s no way you could know,” Pansy said in a light tone. “It’s not like our names are on the shop.”

He tilted his head.

“I mean, the war is over and we’re, well, Greg and I are officially rehabilitated, but there’s, you know. Lingering resentment. But it’s ok because night baking, and then we just go home before the bakery opens.”

Pansy broke a piece off her scone. “Skeeter thinks we’re elves. Or vampires.”

“You don’t not look like a vampire, with the—”

“Septum?”

“Yes, that.”

“A good fuck you to Daddy.”

“I assume you two are not currently on good terms.”

“Haven’t been since he fucked off to Tanzania with his secretary.”

“Ah.”

“How are yours?”

Draco shrugged. “My father will be in Azkaban until he dies. I don’t know where my mother is. France, maybe.” He finished his scone. “Andromeda’s alright.”

“Shit.”

“Indeed.”

“Well. It hasn’t quite turned out how they expected.”

Draco laughed. “Thankfully.”

Pansy glanced up from her plate. That was a real laugh. His eyes were still crinkled. “You, er?”

Draco leaned back, laced his fingers together, and settled them onto the table. “Non-magical people invented the internet.”

That was kind of a non sequitur. She raised an eyebrow. She’d never been quite as good, and she could tell that she still hadn’t quite gotten it right from the way his left eye narrowed.

“Which is, in case you don’t know, an immaterial and material communication system that spans the globe,” he said, without a single trace of irony. “Wizards have never come up with something like that. We were still using bird feathers to write on what are essentially tanned hides when they came up with this.”

Pansy sipped her tea.

“There’s not usually a moment at which,” he said, stabbing one finger into the table, “One can point and say, this is where it changed. But that was it. The internet.”

“The internet?”

“It’s proof that wizards are probably inferior,” Draco said. “Definitely not superior or more intelligent or creative or whatever the fuck Voldemort and my father and I thought for so fucking long.”

“Wait,” Pansy said, narrowing her eyes. “You’re saying the internet made you a non-blood-purist?”

Draco shrugged, as though this was all perfectly sensible and logical.

“You have a lot of time to think in prison,” he said. “But I kept thinking the same things.”

“But?”

He looked down at his tea. “You accumulate hate.”

She bit her lip.

“It was going to be useful when I got out.” Draco lifted a ginger scone to his mouth, then set it back on his plate. “But it turns out things are very different.”

“Well, times change.”

“Reality was different, even then,” he said, and bit into the scone. He swallowed. “Fucking good scone. It was all a lie, you know. Lies, lies, damned lies.”

“The damned spot.”

Draco shoved both his sleeves up, revealing his pale, bare forearms. “I hated my mother because she wouldn’t let me get marked. She said it was an ugly tattoo. And she was right.”

Pansy agreed.

“I think that’s what gets me most,” he said, staring out the window. “None of it was even kind of true. But we just didn’t—we didn’t go anywhere else. Didn’t meet anyone who wasn’t already—”

“One of us.”

His head snapped back and his eyes bored into her. “Even blood’s not a thing.”

“It’s a liquid.”

“It’s not a spiritual or moral thing. It’s proteins and shit. Some people have tiny bits of stuff that sticks out differently and then you have magic. That’s not a choice or a thing you can be proud about. We didn’t do anything to get it.”

Pansy didn’t understand the details of the latest magicotechnical discoveries, but what Draco was saying was true. Or at least as true as the reports she’d read in the _Prophet._

“You can be proud of your bakery. Or these scones. That’s something good. That you put into the world. Having some miniscule aberration in your cells that’s passed on because like, that’s how genes work?” Draco scoffed.

“I read a theory that Voldemort probably would have lived longer if he hadn’t tried to, you know. Live forever.”

“Probably,” Draco said with a short laugh. “He was fucking stupid. And I never understood what happened to his nose.”

Pansy shrugged.

“If I were truly reformed, I wouldn’t hold that against him,” Draco mused.

“It wasn’t like he was born like that. He did evil magic, and then, poof, goodbye nose. Divine retribution for evil. Or something.”

“I suppose.”

“I doubt even Potter or Granger could fault you on that one.”

Draco fixed her with a stare. “I am eminently faultable. Especially to Potter.”

Or Granger, she supplied. Or Weasley. Wheezes had been ordering tons of pastries, though, so maybe she should be a bit more charitable.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think they’re a lot kinder than us. Which benefits us, as it turns out.”

“Serpens semper.”

“Back at you.”

There was a comfortable pause, during which Pansy realized all the tension had seeped from her shoulders. He fucking understood her in a way no one else did. She couldn’t stop a grateful smile from sneaking onto her face.

He saw it, smiled slightly, and poured her another cup of tea.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	23. Sirius Alphonse Umbertus Lupin, Esq.

𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔯 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔬𝔫 & 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔢  
Coxwell House, Surrey 

13th March, 2007  
Sirius Alphonse Umbertus Lupin, Esq.  
12 Grimmauld Place  
Islington, London, United Kingdom

Dear Mr. S. A. U. Lupin,

As the Head of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, you are legally responsible for Draco Malfoy, who on 5th September 1987 was bound by blood in a magical marriage contract to my client, Astoria Elodie Greengrass. 

My client has informed me that she no longer wishes to be bound by this contract. I am operating under the assumption that your ward, who I believe was recently released from Azkaban and has made no efforts to contact my client, also does not wish to be bound by this contract.

§145 of the Legal Reform Act of 2004 did not abolish underage marriage contracts bound by blood dating before 1990. This means that until the contract is voided, it remains binding.

According to our firm’s research into sanguine marriage contracts and the wording of this specific contract, the lives of both of the parties will be threatened if one of them enters into a marriage with another. My client desires to marry another party. 

Yours faithfully,

𝔅𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔪 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔩

Enclosed: facsimile of the magical sanguine marriage contract between Draco Malfoy and Astoria Elodie Greengrass, dated 5th September 1987; witnessed by Carteret Lascelles of Eliphat Pocket & Unicorn.

─────── ⎎ ─────── 

♚ 13.03.07.

Hi Bertram,

Please write Ezekiel Jezrah Murdock, my solicitor, for legal stuff. Thanks.

♚ S. Lupin

─────── ⎎ ─────── 

𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔯 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔬𝔫 & 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔢  
Coxwell House, Surrey 

15th March, 2007  
Sirius Alphonse Umbertus Lupin, Esq.  
12 Grimmauld Place  
Islington, London, United Kingdom

Dear Mr. S. A. U. Lupin,

I think perhaps I did not explain the stakes of this contract clearly. 

At this point, the only way to break the magical, physical, and legal bonds of this sanguine marriage contract (TSMC) as specified in said contract are as follows:

  1. Death of one or both parties, TSMC§6. Survivor freed from contract. 
  2. Proven infertility of one party, TSMC§5. Both parties freed from contract. 
  3. Marriage of one party to a party other than the person named in the contract; lives of both threatened, in a manner unspecified beyond “painful and untimely end,” see TSMC§4.



As my client is not infertile or dead, and does not wish to die, there is little I can do for her from a strict reading of the contract itself. She desires to marry someone else in the next year. 

I believe that legally, the contract could be voidable as both parties were underage (Draco Malfoy being age seven and my client age six) and therefore did not have the legal capacity to enter into a contract, but this would only account for the legal part of the contract, not the magico-physical effects and properties. 

According to our research, there are several possibilities to break the magical or sanguine bond, each of which requires an interaction between the two involved parties, and, unfortunately, the shedding of more blood. Each possibility is risky and not guaranteed to break the contract.

Please respond at the earliest possible date with several dates and times that you, Mr. Malfoy, and your solicitor would be able to meet.

Yours faithfully,

𝔅𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔪 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔩

Copy sent to Ezekiel Jezrah Murdock, Solicitor. 

─────── ⎎ ─────── 


	24. “We’re not going to Camden.”

“Thanks for agreeing to come,” Draco said. “They wouldn’t let me go off with Blaise alone. Er, no offense, Blaise.”

Blaise made a little moue of distaste. “I don’t take anti-Slytherin prejudice personally.”

“No worries, mate,” Neville said. He squeezed Blaise’s gloved hand, wrangled their conjoined hands into his pocket, then held out his other arm to Draco. “Let’s go.”

“Er, wait,” Blaise said. “We’re going to a mug—er, non-magical shopping center.”

“Yes?”

Blaise opened his eyes a little wider and blinked at Draco a few times.

“I thought this was close enough to a non-magical coat,” he protested, looking down at his long black woolen robes.

“The silhouette is,” Blaise sighed, “All wrong.”

Draco scowled. “It’s close enough.”

“We’re not going to Camden.”

“Babe, can you just transfigure it?” Neville asked. He had samples to classify. This fashion trip wasn’t his idea of a fun Saturday morning, but the aurors weren’t expanding the list of people who could apparate Draco. Which was fucking dumb, because it was almost nine months after he’d been released and he hadn’t done anything evil, so either he was really good at the long con, or maybe he wasn’t as dangerous as the Ministry thought.

“Be careful,” Draco demanded as Blaise flicked his wand. “It’s House of Merlin.”

Neville didn’t miss Blaise’s quiet huff.

“Ok, great, let’s go.”

Draco was observing his coat with distaste. “You can see my trousers.”

Blaise pocketed his wand and held out his hand for Draco, who shuffled across the front step. The minute he touched Blaise’s arm, Neville apparated them to the back parking lot of the shopping center. There were dumpsters.

Blaise and Draco exchanged a look.

“I thought you wouldn’t want to walk that far,” Neville said. “I can’t apparate us into the store.”

“Ooh, dead rat,” Draco said.

“Charming.”

“Decent eating, though.”

Neville couldn’t tell if he was joking or if they ate rats in Azkaban. Draco was still so opaque, except in moments of high emotion. He just said the weirdest shit in the most casual tone and then became really intense and earnest about things like biscuits and certain plants and that one chicken they’d seen that had a fringe that covered its eyes.

“Right, so I’ll just post up in this Costa and work on my grant,” Neville said, pointing to the cafe in front of them. Hot chocolate incoming. Blaise kissed him on the cheek, then dragged Draco—who still stared at their PDA—away.

─────── ⎎ ───────

“Did you have fun today?”

Blaise yawned and wriggled his head into Neville’s chest. “It was actually nice. I got a lovely shirt and Draco has a proper non-magical outfit now, so he’ll pass his unit or whatever with flying colors. He insisted on green, but I let it slide. Can’t change all his spots in one day. But, he’s getting, hm, I don’t know. Softer.”

“Yeah,” Neville said, dog-earing the page.

“You’ve made him nice,” Blaise said. “You and your big heart.”

“Eh, probably not my doing. We just dig up plants.”

“No,” Blaise insisted and twisted around to glare at Neville. “He really likes you. He talks about you all the time.”

Neville shrugged and reopened his book. Blaise settled back down.

“If you weren’t so good, I’d think you were having an affair with him.”

He snapped his book shut.

Blaise glanced up, then started biting his bottom lip.

“Hey,” Neville said. “No.”

“He’s quite... you know,” Blaise said.

Neville saw his eyes get shinier, and he didn’t know what to do because the idea that he would cheat on someone—even the thought brought bile to his mouth—and the idea that Blaise might think that he’d do that. It was. It was a really shitty feeling.

But Neville took a deep breath, remembered that this was probably Blaise’s past crowding all kinds of nonsense into his beautiful soul, and asked, “Hey, can you look at me?”

Blaise sat up.

“I love you. You. Ok?”

He blinked.

“And do you know why I love you?”

Blaise blinked a few more times. “I’m pretty?”

“You want to try that again?”

He shook his head, and his eyes overflowed.

“Blaise,” Neville said, and wrapped him in his arms, pressing his forehead against Blaise’s. “You are a wonderful human who happens to be super funny and bizarre and I love how you like salty licorice and want to save all the alley cats and the way you kiss my left shoulder when I’m driving and the way that when I’m in bed with you, I feel like everything in the world is going to be fine, whether it’s because we just had amazing sex or you farted in my face—”

“Never!” Blaise gasp-sobbed.

“It’s happened,” Neville said and kissed his forehead. “But the point is that it has nothing to do with what you look like. It’s all about how you make me feel, and, I hope, how I make you feel.”

He was glad he’d said what he wanted to, because now he was crying too. Blaise nodded furiously, then buried his face in Neville’s shoulder.

“I love you, too,” he mumbled.

─────── ⎎ ───────

The next morning, Blaise propped his chin on his hands and stared Neville down over the toast.

“Yes?”

“I was thinking.”

“Jolly good,” Neville said and buttered a piece of toast.

“I think Draco doesn’t really get, uh, us.”

“Does that matter?” He couldn’t handle strong emotions this early.

Blaise scrunched his nose up. “No, like, not us like, you and me. Us, like, gay people. Queers. Bisexuals. Pansexuals. LGBTQIA people.”

Neville finished his piece of toast, considering this. “He has been asking a lot of questions about plant reproduction lately.”

“See?”

“He could just be into plants.”

Blaise shook his head and said, “Maybe you can like, work some gay plants into your curriculum.”

“I don’t know if that’s the most efficient way to explain human relationships or sexuality,” Neville said. “But I can try?”

“Wait, there are gay plants, right?”

“What—of course. Of course. Plants have more sexual variation than we could possibly imagine. Just look at the rhinosporacean bonsai or fernac or mosses or slippery pepperin, or— ”

Blaise burst out laughing.

“What?” Neville demanded.

“Just you,” Blaise said, ruffling Neville’s hair on the way to the sink. “Just you.”

─────── ⎎ ───────

Neville waited until Draco was busy grinding dried teasels before he even decided to broach the subject. It wasn’t like he was afraid of what Draco might say or do, but Neville had noticed that he tended to do better while multitasking, or he would get way too concerned with all the details that didn’t really matter, like the angle at which one was supposed to push the shovel into the ground (dependent on the depth of plant root, according to Draco four months later), rather that just, absorbing whatever the main message was and, you know, doing it.

“You know I’m going to start at Hogwarts next September,” Neville said, with great effort to keep his voice calm.

Draco stopped grinding. “Yes. I do know that.”

“Right.” Neville wiped his palms.

God, this is how parents must feel when having The Talk. Not that his gran had given him the talk. Or his parents, obviously. Dean had sat him down in fourth year and, after a lot of raunchy jokes from Seamus, drawn him some diagrams.

Though, this was really him giving Draco The Talk. Kind of, anyway.

He hoped he wasn’t going to have to draw diagrams.

Neville swallowed. This wasn’t even really The Talk. This was a lite plant version of The Talk. If it got bad or weird, he could just sort of float away and start talking about rhizomes or soil quality. Ok. It was ok.

“So I wanted to discuss a few of the projects I’d like to complete before then, and see if there was a particular one you were interested in.”

Draco started grinding again. The rasp of the pestle against the mortar seemed to calm him.

“Right,” Neville said and flipped his lab notebook open. “First, we could continue titrating the flebotomos lousewort.”

“No.”

“Uh, ok. Then there’s the glowing bog bean seeds.” Neville paused. “So Hendercronck’s working on the compressive strength of native seeds and wanted to know if we’d be able to provide some numbers on the seeds we have.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Can’t we just send him the seeds? Do you even have the equipment to measure compressive strength?”

“Oh,” Neville said. “That didn’t even occur to me. Yeah, that makes more sense.”

He scribbled a note.

“Ok, well, not that one, then,” Neville said. “Then there’s some stuff related to the studies I started in my diss.”

Draco blinked at him.

Neville always forgot he wasn’t an academic. It wasn’t like Azkaban had a subscription to _Magical Plants Monthly._

“So, er, when I was in Auckland, I was working in the Parata lab, which primarily focuses on the magical properties of the native plants of Aotearoa. And a lot of those are ferns.”

Draco nodded.

“But it turns out a lot of the magical ferns don’t necessarily follow the sporophyte/gametophyte cycle,” Neville said. “Parata’s 2004 paper demonstrated that several species of these ferns seem to have multiple genders beyond what we term male/female and also have, er, strategies of reproduction beyond what one could, in human terms, call heterosexual.”

He paused and looked at Draco, who had stopped grinding.

Neville’s heart was in his mouth, but Draco just pulled an envelope towards him, decanted the powder into it, and refilled the mortar.

“I ended up writing my dissertation on the varied sexualities and genders of the _Adiantum cantatii_.”

“And did it sing?”

Draco’s Latin hadn’t rusted in Azkaban.

Neville nodded. “That was actually a fascinating part, because if you ingest the leaves at certain periods in its life cycle, it can modulate your voice tone, which could have relevant properties for trans people.”

Draco hummed.

“Do you, er, know what trans means?”

Draco set down the pestle and stared evenly at Neville. “Yes.”

“In the like, sociological and gender-related sense?”

Draco tilted his head. “Yes. That was covered in module three of Respecting the Non-Magical World. I understand the concept. We also discussed homosexuality.”

“Ok,” Neville said. Fucking jump into the breach, though, now, because Blaise had asked him, but also because Draco wasn’t a complete shit and he needed to know if this was going to be the end of their semi-comfortable working relationship. “Because sometimes it seems like you don’t, uh, totally get it?”

Draco pressed his lips together. “In what sense?”

“Er, you asked me if I’d gotten like, bonded to Blaise accidentally? And every time we kiss, you seem kind of weirded out. And then you stared at those lesbians in Costa for a really long time.”

“Ah,” Draco said and dropped the pestle into the mortar. Neville started at the thud. “I thought I was being subtle.”

“You’re about as subtle as a flaming thimbleberry.”

Draco snorted at this reference to a plant that burst into seven-foot-tall electric blue flames when its berries were at peak ripeness, so Neville pushed his luck a little. “It’s the mouth. If you closed it when you stared at gay people, the whole staring thing might be less noticeable.”

Draco snapped his mouth shut.

“Well,” he said after an agonizing minute of silence, “I did not know that being not-heterosexual was an option until a few months ago.”

“Have you been under a rock, or?”

“Azkaban is top of a rock, though, technically, as the lower cells are carved into the rock, I could claim that I have been under and inside of a rock.” The corner of his mouth twitched.

Ok, so he definitely wasn’t going to be dangerous about it. Though after an aborted few weeks of auror training, and with a good two hundred pounds on Malfoy, Neville knew he could handle him in any kind of a fight. But it was still a relief.

“My aunt also does not subscribe to any of the magical papers or periodicals, so I have no idea what the state of current affairs are beyond those I learn about in class or via friends.”

“Do you uh, want me to bring you my copies of the _Prophet_ and _Quibbler_?”

“I’m more of a _Witch Weekly_ reader, but thank you.” Again, the mouth twitch.

Draco picked up the pestle and returned to his work. Neville was about to give up on the conversation when he said slowly, “I thought it was only a non-magical thing, from class. But then you kissed Blaise in front of me, and Sirius married Remus Lupin, who, my father said, had attacked and forcibly bonded to Sirius, which I now see is a horrible, prejudiced way of distorting what seems to be a partnership of equals. So it’s clearly a human, or, as you attempted to begin this discussion with, a plant, thing.”

Neville nodded. Hopefully they could start talking about plants again soon.

“I don’t have—” Draco glanced up with pleading eyes, “bad thoughts about homosexuals.”

“Well, that’s a good first step,” Neville said.

“I just, I don’t, I’m not sure,” Draco tried, then dropped his head into his hands.

“Hey,” Neville said, walking around the table and dropping a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s normal to be curious about, er, things we don’t know about.”

And that’s when Neville got the idea. The very wonderful, maybe terrible, maybe genius idea.

He squeezed Draco’s shoulder. “I’ll take you to a cool place next week, ok?”

Draco made a muffled sound of assent.

Neville was in the bath that evening before he realized they hadn’t decided what experiment to run.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	25. “Free alcohol,” Astoria said.

Astoria poured herself a plastic cup of the shitty wine Harry had provided and settled into the couch which was, somehow, already musty. The Conciliatio offices had been open for what, three months? She drew out her wand and muttered a freshening incantation.

All the usual suspects were here: Harry, managing to welcome everyone and make sure that the snacks were refilled; Luna, nodding along as Ginny showed her various wedding dresses in some magazine; Dean sprawled on top of Seamus, who was taking up an entire couch even though he was about five four; Florian trying to look casual and failing while eating a biscuit; Addie, Pelin, and Sequoia were chatting in a corner.

Lavender plopped down on the couch, spilling a bit of wine onto her jeans. “Drat.”

Astoria waved her wand. “I’ve got it.”

“Thanks.”

“How are you?”

“You know,” Lavender said as she raised her eyebrows and took a sip of the wine. “Oh, that’s bad.”

“I think Harry might be a nontaster,” Astoria said lightly. “But I haven’t wanted to bring it up to them, because, free alcohol. Gift horses and so on.”

Lavender nodded. “Harry’s way too generous as is.”

“They could afford it, though,” Astoria realized. Lavender raised her eyebrows and did a kind of sideways head-bob that Astoria read as tentative agreement.

She had just taken another sip of the truly wretched cab when the door jingled open and in walked Neville, followed by Draco Fucking Malfoy.

Astoria choked. Wine spurted out of her mouth and dripped down her face.

Lavender whipped her wand out and tidied her up, then whispered, “Don’t worry, no one noticed.”

Astoria believed her, if only because the room was now perfectly silent and all eyes were glued to Draco.

“Hey,” Neville said with a smile. “I brought Draco.”

As though they couldn’t all see that.

Neville turned a little towards Draco, who seemed to be rooted to the spot and was just blinking in their general direction.

Apparently Azkaban had changed him.

“Er,” Neville said, then conferred with Draco for a few moments in whispers. Astoria couldn’t quite hear, but there didn’t seem to be much of a back and forth, because Draco was just nodding along, his eyes drawn again and again to—oh, Harry.

Of course you’d be unable to look away from your teenage nemesis, especially if said nemesis had grown up to be six three and was currently wearing platform boots and a sequined jacket.

Neville and Draco appeared to reach some kind of conclusion, or at least Neville did, because he put one hand on Draco’s arm and propelled him further into the room.

No one else had said anything or moved.

“You want some Goldfish?” Harry blurted, jutting his arm with the bag out towards Draco and Neville.

“Ooh, rainbow, like us,” Neville said with a grin as he held his hand out.

Harry poured some into his hand, then looked at Draco.

Draco’s arm shot out. Harry poured a few crackers into his hand, then Draco closed his hand around them with a crunch. He opened his hand again and surveyed the pile of rainbow crumbs with confusion.

“Oh, er,” Harry said. “I’ll put some in a cup for you.”

“Thank you!” Draco mumbled while staring at the crumbs in his hand.

“Right,” Neville said, and ushered Draco to an armchair, where he sat, perfectly still, afraid of spilling the crushed crackers.

“Lord,” Astoria said with a sigh. She grabbed a napkin, went over to Draco, smiled in greeting, brushed the crumbs into the napkin. “They’re crackers.”

He blinked up at her and asked, “Astoria?”

“Yes,” she said, holding out one hand. “I’m a lesbian. Welcome to the Thursday Night Social Club for Currently Queer Former Hogwartians.”

“Oh,” Draco said.

“Not what you were expecting, or?”

“Neville just said it was a surprise.”

“Well, you certainly made it a surprise. We usually just sit around and drink wine and talk shit. But,” Astoria shrugged, “you made a shocking entrance.”

To her surprise, Draco blushed rather than preened.

“I, er, don’t want to disturb anything.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, pushing out against the edges of her consciousness, but all she sensed was nervousness. No flickers of hate or disgust. Just … nerves. And confusion.

He was in a nice, but worn, black robe, which, with his hair tucked behind his ears, reminded her of when she’d first seen him in his Hogwarts robes at age eleven, prancing around the Manor lording it over her that she wouldn’t be going to school until next year. And fuck, that reminded her of the marriage contract, but now was really not the place or time, because Draco seemed a few roses short of a bouquet at the moment.

“Hey,” she said. “Don’t be worried. They’re all really accepting. Especially Harry.”

Draco swallowed and pressed his hands across his thighs.

The gesture scattered a trail of rainbow colored crumbs across his robe.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	26. Quiet Research

**To:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
**From:** anne-presley@northumberland.gov.uk  
**Date:** 2:01 pm, March 4, 2007  
**Subject:** Reinstatement of Library Privileges

Dear Draco,

I apologize for the official overreaction that resulted in the removal of your library privileges after the complaint lodged by a party who shall remain nameless. This email is to notify you that all your privileges are reinstated as of this morning.

I reviewed the incident with Peggy, who was on desk at the time, and she said that you were extremely embarrassed, confused, and contrite about what happened at the library last Friday, indicating that what happened was clearly an accident. In the future, I would strongly recommend turning the volume off or wearing headphones before playing any video. Otherwise, books with the call numbers beginning 306.7 (sexual relations) might be a good place to start your research. As always, if you need help finding resources or have research questions, our staff is always available. The library is a safe space for all kinds of (quiet) research. 

We’ve missed seeing you at Kielder Library! 

Best,  
Anne 

─────── ⎎ ─────── 

“Hi, Draco? This is Anne from Kielder Library. I sent you an email stating that your library privileges are reinstated after the confusion and misunderstanding surrounding the incident that was clearly an accident, but then we realized that you can only check your email at the library, so I found this number under Tonks, A. in the phone book. If this is the wrong Tonks family, please disregard this voicemail. Just wanted to apologize and let you know that we miss you at Kielder, Draco. We want to support you in your research. The library is a safe space! If you have any other questions or concerns, please give us a call back at 01434 250262. See you soon!”

─────── ⎎ ─────── 

**To:** mimbulus_fan80@yahoo.com  
**From:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
**Date:** 3:05 pm, March 10, 2007  
**Subject:** Research Project

Neville,

I choose the homosexual plants project, even though you did not really explain what it would entail. It is far more interesting than the others. Also, I would like your old copies of the _Quibbler,_ if that offer still stands. 

DM

─────── ⎎ ─────── 

Neville’s owl flew into Luna’s kitchen and began hopping around on the table until Ginny glanced up and took the envelope.

“Loons, you’ve gotten a letter from Nev!” she shouted to her better half, who was probably doing something mysterious and potentially dangerous with her eyebrows in the bathroom. She’d been in there too long at a not-pooing time. 

“Open it!” Luna yelled back. “I’m busy.”

Ginny sighed. 

_Hi Luna, Kinda strange request for you, but I was wondering if you had any back issues of the Quibbler? I offered to give Draco my old copies, because he hasn’t had access to any magical newspapers or anything, well, since 1998, but turns out Blaise cut up most of mine to create some kind of board of moods, so half of the most interesting headlines are gone. The ones relating to sexuality and gender stuff would be most interesting to him, like the one you did of Astoria’s coming out and the article on Harry and stuff like that. I don’t want to overwhelm him, but as he keeps pointing out to me, he has been on/under/inside a rock for a long time. Anyway, sending my love to Gin, too xx Nev_

“Huh,” Ginny said aloud and took the letter down the hall to the bathroom, where, sure enough, Luna had turned one of her eyebrows a shimmering green.

─────── ⎎ ─────── 

{from Harry’s laptop}

BRAINDUMP DOCUMENT

  * OK SO DUMBLEDORE WAS GAY ????? 



* THE PENSIEVE TODAY 
  

* I WAS JUST LIKE OH HEY I MISS ALBUS
  

* AND THEn O________O !!! 
  

* I CANNOT 
  

* I HAD NO IDEA LIKE 
  

* ANYWAY WE HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE 
  

* WHICH I HAVE SUSPECTED FOR A LONG TIME 
  

* Which anyway fed into some of the other stuff i’ve been working on for conciliatio, re: the actual legality of gay marriage in magical societies for a long time until like the 1970s/80s ??? look into crossovers between the voldemort dumb blood purist shit and the secret (secretization??) of the history of gay wizards/magic users, wizards being in the historic sense ... 

  * like did dumbledore etc have to pretend to be straight in order to present a more “moderate” opposition to voldy ?
  * see also what malfoy said at the meeting re: not knowing any of this, obvs more extreme case but was seconded by all kids who grew up magical like ????!?!?!
  * Don’t ask don’t tell 



* Which means like maybe we need a gay magical history book ??? 
  

* No we definitely need one
  

* GAY WIZARDS: Grindlewald (see: dumbledore gay), Merlin, probably
  

* Lesbians??? Ask luna about this re: her series she’s been doing in the quibbler, because someone might have been doing some other digging/research * make this book a community project * ORAL HISTORY?! 10/10 magic could make that happen in a book format ok yeah 
  

* Bi ???: Remus lupin probs knows what’s up — chapter on 70s Hogwarts? What was it like ??? 
  

* Nonbinary legends: Tonks, duh —> are most metamorphagi nonbinary? At least would have the ability to do whatever they wanted physically ??? not that this means but yeah things to think about ok ok ok 
  

* Asexual?? All the “unmarried” sorcerers we learned about maybe a good place to start 
  

* Gay magical history book ??? 
  

* Does this exist?? 
  

* Write Pince re: if anything already exists and/or where she’d recommend starting 
  

* Is Binns still around?! Who’s teaching History of magic at Hogwarts ??
  

* ALBUS THO J
  

* JKFLDAJFDKLASJFLKDJASLKFJDA
  

* MY MIND IS SEARED, SEARED I TELL YOU
  

* OH MY GOD I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS
  

* I NEED TO CALL HERMIONE 

─────── ⎎ ─────── 

♚ March 25, 2007

Hey Hermione,

I know you’re super busy with your fancy new job being the youngest badass professor and all that stuff, but I had a research question for you. Probably better discussed in person, but the basic outline is: one of my wards is locked in a sanguine marriage contract signed at age 7 but the other party doesn’t want to marry him because she’s a lesbian, one/both of them might die if the contract is broken. It’s not Harry; James and Lily weren’t that fucked up. 

Lawyers working on it, etc., but I thought, the smartest witch of her age probably has some amazing ideas that the crusty old robes haven’t thought of (or might never think of, Merlin, the hourly billing I’ve been getting). 

Anyway, thought you might have some thoughts (I write songs, believe it or not), given the dope legal work you did on the elf contracts. And the vampire stuff, and the giants, and … well, your entire career, basically. Undoing the bad magic laws, that’s our girl. Sorry, that’s our learned professor. 

Could I tempt you and Ron to dinner sometime next week? Remus is going to the Midlands on some course about gastrointestinal things, so I’ll be especially lonely.

♚ love, Sirius

─────── ⎎ ─────── 


	27. Annual Report

╭━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╮

 **Sociatrix Case Report**  
1 May 2007 • 10:05 am

╰━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╯

 **Client Name:** Draco Malfoy  
 **Participant(s):** Draco Malfoy, Otto Pembroke, Hesperide Buttonwillow, Andromeda Tonks  
 **Method:** In Person  
 **Location:** Ministry of Magic, Sociatrix Department, Conference Room  
 **Status:** Completed

Meeting with Draco Malfoy a year after his release from Azkaban. Auror Otto Pembroke (DMLE case manager) and Andromeda Tonks also present.

The client appeared alert and engaged throughout the meeting, a noticeable difference from a year ago. Dressed tidily in black robes.

Reviewed progress of the client’s probation arrangements:

  1. Planned Living Arrangement: continue to live with Andromeda Tonks at The Howes, Otterburn, Newcastle upon Tyne
    1. Andromeda Tonks and the client continue to be the only persons in residence.
    2. Premises secured by Aurors with wards holding until 2026 or when deemed appropriate to be removed; impenetrable to magical means of transportation specifically carried out by the client independently; owls unable to reach the client at this address unless addressed care of Andromeda Tonks; accessible via Floo Network for those on an approved list (currently: OP, Andromeda Tonks, myself, Neville Longbottom, Remus Lupin; in an emergency, any auror or sociatrix may use Probationary Protocol 45a to gain immediate access to the residence).
    3. *** Client asked if there was a procedure to allow others to be able to access via Floo Network; I said I would look into this and get back to the client within the week.
    4. Client requested permission to acquire internet at The Howes; Pembroke said he would clear this with DLME.
  2. Education: Suggested client could finish Hogwarts degree through correspondence and a tutorial system, but did not seem interested. Asked what education would be needed to work as a potioneer (must pass Potioneers’ Invigilated Gamuts).
  3. Employment:
    1. Client has been working for Dr. Neville Longbottom as a laboratory and field assistant since the end of his community service with Dr. Longbottom. This work planned to continue until late August 2007, when Dr. Longbottom begins as Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts.
    2. Client expressed interest in potions as a potential career, said he would ask Dr. Longbottom if he knew anyone, I also said I would look into potential work placements in the potioneering field.
  4. Community Service: Completed.
  5. Probationary Expectations
    1. 6 months without wand — completed.
    2. 250 hours of community service — completed.
    3. Education components
      1. Anti-Sanguinem Castitate program completed, certificate received September 2006, signed by A. R. Patel.
      2. Completion of Respecting the Non-Magical World and Anti-Sanguinem Castitate MoM curriculum — underway, progressing positively according to Jason Clarke-Rodríguez, Non-Magical Studies Consultant, MoM Dept. Continuing Education.
    4. 1 year of monthly meetings with Sociatrix and DMLE — completed thus far.
    5. 3 years supervised probation under Sociatrix and DMLE — transitioning to this step, suggested bimonthly meetings unless areas of concern arose, agreed to by all present.
    6. Release from probation after year 3.
  6. Reintegration Activities:
    1. Member of local non-magical library; has learned how to use electronic mail; attended several community events.
    2. Attends Thursday Night Social Club at Conciliatio offices in Diagon Alley; asked if he would be able to Floo to the Conciliatio offices independently, as Dr. Longbottom has been having to escort him. I said I would check in with Harry Potter regarding this request; Pembroke agreed to check with DMLE.
    3. Comment: client seemed excited about both of these; had to stomp on Pembroke’s foot when he tried to ask more about the Thursday Night Social Club, because we don’t need to be nosy or judgmental about the client’s activities. Good progress in making prosocial bonds.
  7. Plan for upcoming year:
    1. Completion of Respecting the Non-Magical World and Anti-Sanguinem Castitate MoM curriculum by July 2007.
    2. Bimonthly meetings for 3 years supervised probation under Sociatrix and DMLE.
    3. Also indicated to the client that I am always available for individual meetings (without Pembroke), to which the client nodded and pocketed one of my cards.
    4. Suggested therapy and gave clients the names of several magical therapists.



The client seemed quietly content with these plans. When asked how things were going, Draco said, “Well, it’s not what I imagined for my late twenties, but what I imagined doesn’t really appeal to me, anymore,” which I take as a positive sign of the extinguishing of blood supremacist views and a realignment of his internal worldview.

_Signed, Hesperide Buttonwillow,_   
_3rd Order of Zelig Sociatrix_

╭━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╮

**Vigilantia Confidens**

╰━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━━✶━━ ⋅𖥔⋅ ━╯


	28. “Glitter?” Hermione asked.

Harry groaned and flopped face down onto one of the Conciliatio couches.

“It’s a bit whiffy,” Hermione said as she perched on the arm. She bent over to scratch their head, and Harry moaned—a good moan, thankfully—and mumbled into the couch. “Are you allowing hamsters to nest in here?”

“No,” Harry said, lifting their head and then dropping it back down again.

“‘Mione!” Ron called from the kitchen. “Do you want tea or coffee?”

“Tea!”

“Roger that!”

Hermione sighed and scratched Harry’s scalp. It felt like something weird was getting under her nails, so she checked and, “Glitter?”

Harry rolled over. “Pride month is exhausting.”

“Darling, firstly, Pride was last month, and secondly, you should use a clarifying shampoo. At least occasionally. Oh, thanks, love,” she said and blew Ron a kiss as he handed her a cup of tea.

“I’m not giving it you until you sit up,” he said with a cross look at Harry’s slouched form. “You’ll spill all over the couch and then it’ll be even worse than it is now.”

“Thanks, Mum,” Harry said with an eye roll as they pulled themselves vertical.

“He has such a good parent voice already,” Hermione agreed. “I’m hoping mine will like, come with the pregnancy. Or the birth. As long as I get one eventually.”

“You already have the authoritative lecture voice down, though,” Ron said.

“What?!”

“No, no, no, like from being a professor,” he protested. “And from schooling the fucking Ministry in court. Ya know. Just casual Hermione things.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and lifted her feet into his lap. He raised an eyebrow, which meant after I finish my tea, but he owed her a foot massage now, and she was going to collect.

“So,” Harry said.

Hermione shot a glance at Ron, willing him not to say anything about the whole Draco contract situation thing, because from what Sirius had said, Draco didn’t even know about it, so as she had tried to hammer into Ron’s head, this wasn’t something it was appropriate to tell Harry. Even if they told Harry almost everything.

Ron hid his face behind his mug.

“Draco’s been coming on Thursdays,” Harry continued in a blasé tone. “To the queer Hogwarts group.”

Oh, that. Ginny had owled them immediately—lied that she needed some tampons and run down to the public owlery and sent them a scrawled missive and then sprinted back to the meeting—and Hermione had been waiting for Harry to bring it up.

Ron fought to keep his expression neutral and then burst out, “We know.”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up, then fell. “Oh, Gin. Duh.”

Ron nodded.

“How’s it been?” Hermione asked, prodding Ron gently with her foot. He got the message, drained his tea, removed her flats, and set to work.

Thank God she’d fallen in love with someone who was good with his hands.

Right, focus.

“How’s it been with Malfoy, you know, at the meetings?”

“Oh, right,” Harry said, as though this were a new topic introduced by someone else. “He doesn’t really say anything.”

They rubbed one eye. “Astoria used to say some stuff and the rest of us were like, you’ve got to be joking, but Draco has like, backed her up on some weird shit.”

“Like what?” Hermione didn’t buy vague statements.

“His dad told him that Remus attacked Sirius and bound him to him, well, Sirius got bound to Remus and couldn’t escape and that was obviously an evil werewolf thing, and that was why Sirius excommunicated or whatever.” Harry scrunched their nose. “I mean, for one, that’s not true at all, because Sirius tried to disown himself, but the Blacks never made it magically or legally binding, but, whatever, the point is that if the rest of the magical world pretended like queerness wasn’t, you know, a thing, the purebloods did it in spades. Full on cone of silence. Except for when they had to try to explain why the heir to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black wasn’t coming around anymore, which, you know, throw in some homophobia and werewolf hate. Why not.”

“Why not,” Ron echoed. “That’s fucked up, though.”

Harry nodded. “Or stuff like, I was talking about how Dumbledore was gay and maybe that was why we vibed—”

“Vibed?!” Hermione interrupted. “He was using you as a child soldier to bring down an evil wizard. He was grooming you to die.”

She tried to keep her voice even because Harry hadn’t grown up with parents so of course they’d imprint on the first adult who was even kind of nice, but, Jesus fucking Christ, she wished they’d imprinted on Hagrid. Sure, he wasn’t super responsible, but at least he wasn’t actively leading Harry down a cryptic path towards death.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said and waved a hand. Hermione pressed her lips together.

“But anyway, I talked about the ideas I’ve been having about the book. Draco gasped and was like, that’s why my dad hated Dumbledore. Because like, really, people don’t get that upset about school policies or whatever.”

They sipped their tea.

Hermione scrutinized Harry’s face. They were looking … not quite happier, really, but more at ease and less frazzled than they had in some time. Even with glitter dandruff.

“It’s not like, fucked up the group or anything, right?” Ron asked.

“Eh,” Harry said. “It was awkward the first few times and like, it would have been nice to have a fucking warning, Nev, but—” he sighed. “He’s actually kind of funny.”

“Funny?!”

“Wait,” Ron said, “you think Draco Malfoy, Prince of Purebloods and High Warlock of Generally Being a Shit, is kind of funny. Explain, mate.”

“Yeah,” Harry said and sucked his cheeks in. “Like, half the time he doesn’t know shit about anything, like, doesn’t know what a jam roly-poly is because Luna brought one last time, but instead of being a judgmental dick about it, he writes it down in this notebook.”

“Bit weird,” Ron said.

“He’s taking some class on non magical culture?”

“Oh, the one at the Ministry with Jason?” Hermione grinned. “I love Jason. We were interns at the same time.”

“Uh, yeah, he’s mentioned someone with that name a couple of times.”

“Ugh, he’s doing such good work at the Ministry, like, more power to him. Maybe you should get him to come do a talk here.”

Her mind started sparkling with ideas and Ron gave her the Look. The Look that meant, _you can’t be in charge of everything, even if it would be more efficient and a hundred times better if you just did it._ She looked down at her tea and waited for Harry to respond.

“Yeah, that wouldn't be a half-bad idea. I always thought the Ministry was like, behind the times.”

“Oh, they are,” Hermione said. “But Jason is trying to drag at least one corner into this century.”

There was another silence. She made a mental note to email José, but that was it, ok.

“He’s obsessed with the internet.”

“Who, Malfoy?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a grin. “He’s convinced that was his whole come-to-Jesus moment, like we had magic, but non-magical people invented the internet.”

Ron snorted. “Fair point.”

“Nev said he got Hermione levels of bonkers about the whole parchment issue one time.”

“It doesn’t make sense to use parchment!” Hermione interjected. “It’s skin! It’s really expensive! Why is it in scrolls?! The codex has been the predominant method for information storage in western Europe since like, the 1200s.”

“Yeah, see, exactly, like, he gets like that, too. Apparently.”

Hermione hmphed. She didn’t know if being likened to Malfoy was flattering. But then again, if he was still a dick, she could always punch him in the face again. The warm glow of that memory spread through her.

Still, though, it seemed like Malfoy 2.0 was trying. Which was good.

She bit her lip. She couldn’t ask if Malfoy was gay. She and Ron had debated that back and forth from the moment they’d finished reading Ginny’s owl. It was definitely rude to ask, because even though both of them were bi, they went to the Thursday meetings sporadically, and it felt like a breach of confidence to ask Harry or anyone else to out Malfoy. If he was out at all.

Which, based on what Harry had said, wasn’t totally clear.

She’d have to collect more data.

And she was going to have to write to Sirius to inform Malfoy about the whole contract thing if he hadn’t yet, because it was, according to her research, going to be difficult to break, but not impossible, but that was something that Malfoy would definitely have to be involved with personally. So she’d probably be seeing Malfoy sooner or later. Though it might be nice to re-meet him socially before having to demand that he open a vein or something equally grim.

She came back to the conversation gradually to find them discussing Quidditch, so she zoned out again and returned to her own thoughts.

“Harry,” she said, interrupting Ron’s flailed reenactment of some maneuver connected to the latest Cannons’ match because he’d done the same thing for her about fifty times last Saturday while yelling and jumping around in the living room. “Have you come across anything about marriage contracts and queer wizards in your research for the book?”

“Hm,” Harry said and tilted their head to the left. “I don’t think so, but I can look into that. New project?”

“Yeah,” she said, “new project.”

─────── ⎎ ───────


	29. “Ah, Professor Longbottom,” Pomona said.

Pomona Sprout cracked her knuckles and surveyed the greenhouse. It had been a relentless summer, fighting the overgrown plants back into some kind of submission so Neville wouldn’t be eaten alive—at one point, she might have said not literally, but after Hardcastle’s accident in Greenhouse Six—she shrugged, even though she was only thinking to herself, and grinned.

There was a crunch on the gravel behind her.

“Professor Sprout?”

“Ah, Professor Longbottom,” Pomona said and turned with a grin.

She’d tried to break him of the habit of using her title, but it just rolled off his gigantic shoulders with a gentle shrug.

He was looking good. He’d always been a cute boy, but over the years, he’d grown into himself. Physically, sure, but it was the confidence that had filled him out over the years. That and the improvement to his posture. He moved with a kind of studied grace.

She held out her arms to him and he tried to bend over to hug her without enveloping her.

“Oh, hello,” Pomona said when he released her. “Malfoy, isn’t it?”

He looked old, shifting from foot to foot beside Neville, his hands almost vibrating with the suppressed urge to fiddle. He’d been a bit of a tit, but, what kid brought up to pureblood nonsense would turn out with an ounce of sense? And they’d all been complicit in that, letting the wounds of unchallenged hatred fester. She ground her teeth.

“Draco, please,” he said, jutting a hand towards her.

She took his hand—thin, pale, dry—and squeezed it between both of hers.

He had dirt underneath his nails.

“Pomona, even though that one won’t say it.”

Neville glanced towards the ceiling.

“I’ll make us some tea,” she said, herding them towards the door. “And then we can discuss what you’re going to do with the greenhouses.”

─────── ⎎ ───────

Over the course of several cups of tea, they poured over the bound volumes of the greenhouses’ history and specifications, reviewing the most dangerous plants (the carnivorous plot in Six that resisted all forms of magical and physical destruction) and areas (first years were under no circumstances allowed in Five, since the wild magic from the lingorous petunia massacre of 1963 still lingered).

Nev’s plans for the first round of plantings for the beginning of the school year were solid. Some innovation, some tradition.

Draco piped up now and again but seemed content to let the two of them chatter away. Pomona couldn’t tell how much he understood. He’d been passable at Herbology, but it had never been his passion—smart, but hadn’t applied himself. At least not in her class.

“You’re working for Nev?” she asked as she shut the final tome.

Draco nodded. “I did my er, community service, with him.”

“And then I hired you as my research assistant,” Neville said, “because you weren’t entirely shit at digging.”

Draco snorted. “I used to be.”

“I could see your potential.”

Definitely banter, but was it flirtatious?

“He’ll be helping me set up the greenhouses before term, but then he’s going to start a potions internship.”

“Potions?”

Draco shrugged.

Neville raised an eyebrow at him and he bit his bottom lip, then said in a sudden rush, “I’ve always liked potions.”

Pomona waited.

“I, er... Neville suggested that it might be a good... you know... I didn’t finish my NEWTs and I’m a felon... so, well, anyway, you don’t need a degree... It’s just a set of tests.”

“What he’s not saying is that he’s quite good at potions,” Neville said. “Especially the ones that require botanical tinctures or essences.”

Pomona raised her eyebrows and nodded. “I’ve always thought there should be more collaboration between herbologists and potioneers. Mind you, Severus didn’t see it that way.” She wrinkled her nose. “More of a one-way roundabout of demands.”

Draco looked pale.

“Oh, sorry, were you close to him?”

Didn’t hurt to ask.

He shook his head violently.

“He was a right fucking nutter,” Pomona said with vindictive glee. “Minnie and I spent years trying to get him fired, but Albus wouldn’t hear of it.”

She poured Draco and Neville more tea. “Still don’t quite understand why you’d allow generations of students to be abused just to keep your little spy ring going. He could have been a secretary or something.”

The mug of tea warmed her hands. “Audrey’s much better. Transparent. Big ideas. Clear values. Nothing is just allowed to,” she cast about for the right set of words, “exist because of tradition. Or serve some secret world-saving but fucked up purpose.”

Draco made a noise that sounded like it could be a dry laugh. Or he might be choking.

“There’s only a few olds left,” she continued. “Hagrid’s head of Gryffindor; they’ll probably be grooming you for that, but he’s got a few years left in him. Minnie retired last year but she keeps popping back in to pick up a book. Pomfrey and Pince moved to Brighton in 2000. Trelawney’s down in Wales somewhere. Filius keeps saying he’ll retire, but, you know. Men. Tricking themselves that they’re irreplaceable.”

Neville chuckled. “I still get nightmares about his sad little smile at my attempts in charms. Wingardium fuck me.”

Pomona sniggered. “He’s always struggled teaching kids who don’t have natural aptitude.”

“Is there anyone else left?”

She shook her head. “I’m sure you met the others at the interview, but they’re all great. Well, they’re professors. But they try.”

“And Marcus and Ollie are here now, right?”

“Marcus started last year, and now Oliver’s joining him. Because of the baby.”

“Baby?” Draco half-whispered.

Pomona scratched her nose. “It’s due, er, next month sometime?”

“Er, they, the two of them, men, yes?” Draco was twisting the mug in his hands.

Neville pinched the bridge of his nose. “Er, yeah, let’s talk about that later, right?”

Pomona shot Neville a look.

“No, no, what’s your question?”

A flush spread across Draco’s face. “They made a baby, er, together?”

“It requires certain potions, but yes, the two of them together made a baby,” Pomona said. “I, er, it hasn’t been germane to my life to ascertain the details of that process, but, yes. The short answer is yes.”

Neville was blinking determinedly at his tea.

“Ah,” Draco said, pressed his lips together, and jerked his head in a little nod. “Ok.”

Neville scratched his beard and nodded slowly a few times.

“Do you want a baby?” Draco blurted. This seemed directly at Neville, not her, so Pomona just basked in the awkwardness as her favorite former student turned crimson and sweat began beading on his brow.

“What?” Neville managed.

Draco stared at him unblinking.

Pomona bit the inside of her cheek to keep from bursting out in laughter.

“I, er, one day, sure,” Neville blustered, sweeping his hair back from his face.

“With Blaise?”

Oh, so there was another person involved here. The name sounded familiar, right on the tip of her tongue, but then it escaped again.

“Well, yeah,” Neville said, “I love him. But I’d want to get married first.”

“So traditional,” Pomona managed to say without a giggle.

“Anyway, it’s not really on the menu right now,” Neville blundered.

Draco glared at Neville.

Pomona pressed her knuckles against her mouth. This was all too absurd.

“You’re going to be a good dad,” Draco said. Ah, it was a glare of intensity, not animosity. “When it’s on the menu.”

Neville blinked and stared up at the ceiling.

“Well,” Pomona said, “Would anyone like to take a look at the carnivorous serpentine maximiliorian?”

─────── ⎎ ───────


	30. “I had an itch,” Ron said.

Ron didn’t have time for this kind of defeatism. It was the morning of the fête. The morning of the fête.

There wasn’t time to deviate from the plan now. Not at this point.

Biting his tongue, he glared at Harry, then took a deep breath.

Hermione’s head snapped up from her book. “Harry, why don’t we go finish our coffee on the porch?”

She got up, grabbed Harry’s elbow, and steered them out of the kitchen, babbling about how lovely the sun was in the morning and wasn’t it rare to have a sunny morning and so lucky on the day of the fête, too.

Ron turned his attention back to the cake.

─────── ⎎ ───────

The judges were drawing closer. Ron attempted to stop staring. It was a blind competition.

But he couldn’t stop scratching his arm. Hermione grabbed his hand and glared up at him.

“I had an itch,” he said.

She rolled her eyes and squeezed his hand three times. Their silent I love you. He squeezed hers back.

She would still love him if he lost.

Not that it really mattered. He was totally chill. This was just a fun lark. An amusing little contest. Something to spice up the monotony of the summer.

The judges circled his cake, making notes on clipboards. They were muttering. Not one of them smiled. The oldest lady—Edna Mortis, sixty-four, soft spot for almond flavor, marigolds, and cats—picked up the knife, cut into it, then placed the knife back down on the table.

His heart was in his throat.

She picked up the server and removed the slice to a plate. They bent around it, concealing the cake from general view.

Mum glanced over at him and flashed him a smile.

Harry let out a sharp, “Fuck!”

“What? What?” Ron hissed. “Are you using legilimency?”

Harry blinked at him. “What?”

“Why did you say fuck?”

“The, er, fuck—” Harry said, waving one hand at towards the other side of the tent.

“Oh, Jason!” Hermione piped up.

“Er, ok,” Ron said, glancing back at the judges. They each had a forkful of cake. It was approaching their mouths.

“And Draco, ooh, I wonder if it’s a field trip,” Hermione gushed. “We’d discussed that, but the Ministry was being so shitty about permissions, but I’m so glad to see Jason wore them down eventually.”

They’d put the cake in their mouths.

This was the moment of truth.

“I’ll just, er, mate,” Harry said, clapping Ron on the back.

“Wait, wait, wait, Harry,” Hermione said, “I want to chat to Jason!”

Ron couldn’t breathe. They were chewing. Still.

“Oh, shit, wait,” Hermione said, grabbing Ron’s hand and yanking Harry back with her other.

Eyebrows were being raised.

The mouths were now falling open.

Ron heard a gasp.

The judges exchanged glances, then started frantically scribbling.

Had he used salt instead of sugar? Had the cream gone off? Maybe the almond note was heresy?!

His heart started pounding in his ears. He was going to be eternally barred from the Ottery St. Catchpole fête. Years of Weasley triumph ruined. He shouldn’t have expected anything else.

Mum sidled over and patted his arm.

Sympathy pats.

He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

She shouldn’t have passed him the mantle.

The judges conferred, then Edna withdrew the third-place ribbon. A buzzing filled his ears. No one turned towards him, so it wasn’t his. Then second place. Again, nothing.

He had royally fucked up.

“And now, the prize for best cake—”

Edna paused.

He was having a heart attack. Like, actively dying. And his fiancée was bouncing on her toes and his mother was patting his arm. Couldn’t they tell he was seconds from seeing the Grim?

“The Victoria sponge, by a Mr. Ronald—ah, of course, it’s a Weasley—” but Edna was grinning at that, and then in a voice he couldn’t have guessed was hiding in a four-foot eight woman, boomed, “CONGRATULATIONS RONALD!”

Everyone turned towards him.

And everything went all black and spotty.

─────── ⎎ ───────

“Oh, Ronnikins,” George said, pinching his cheek. “Our delicate little one.”

Ron shook his head. None of this was real.

“Quite Victorian, really,” Ginny said. “Didn’t know we should bring our own fainting couch.”

“You know what I was reading,” Luna said dreamily, “couches used to be a place of female sexuality, deviant, of course, but there was this theory that women who had male visitors would entertain them on the couch in more than one way, which of course led to the development of this trope of women masturbating on couches—”

“That’s nice, dear,” Mum said, thrusting another cup of tea in front of Ron. “Drink up, get your strength back.”

He gulped the tea. She smoothed his hair, then reached forward to straighten the red ribbon pinned to his chest.

He blinked down at it.

“Good job, Ronnie,” Mum said and kissed his head. “I’m so proud.”

“Ah, well,” he said, staring down into the milky tea.

“Ronald,” she said sternly. He glanced up and her face softened. “You’re the only one of my children who can bake.”

“How sharper than a serpent’s tooth is an ungrateful mother,” George said, “You loved the banana bread I made for Mother’s Day.”

Ron’s mouth twitched. Mum and he had spent a few minutes in the kitchen, prodding the burned and yet raw cake with their wands to spruce it up a bit, then realized it was hopeless, binned it, and whipped up another banana bread, compressing the baking time with magic, so that by the time they returned to the table with perfectly sliced, warm banana bread, no one had noticed they’d even been gone.

Mum barked a laugh, then caught Ron’s eye, and they both collapsed into laughter.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, she pinched his cheek. “So lucky to have you,” she said, then blinked away more tears. “Well, I should go make sure your father hasn’t scared off the coconut shy man.”

“This cake is so good,” Harry said suddenly around a mouthful of cake. They stared at Ron.

“Potter, you know nothing.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “You think Edna would give gold to a subpar cake?”

“Ron,” Hermione said, approaching the table with a handsome man with dark curly hair and a very fucking cool short-sleeve button down shirt with frogs. “This is Jason, who was an intern with me at the Ministry, and now he does the non-magical education programs.”

“Your cake is fantastic,” Jason said, glancing down at his plate. “I did have to bump a pensioner out of the way to get the last piece, so I feel a little guilty about that, but—”

“You split the last piece with the elderly woman,” a voice from behind Jason said.

Jason smirked and suppressed what was clearly the urge to roll his eyes, then said, “I’m sure you remember the ever-detailed-oriented Draco.” He sank into the empty chair next to Ron and stared at him. “This cake is amazing.”

“Er,” Ron said. His insides were doing something weird. “Frogs.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jason said and grinned. “I love amphibians. Anything that can survive in multiple environments, just, fascinating.”

“Cool,” Ron said. His brain was feeling kind of scrambled. Hermione came up behind him and scratched his neck. That didn’t help the brain scrambling.

“But your cake.” Jason cut off another bite and studied it. “I’d ask for the recipe, but I can’t bake for shit.”

“You should come over for cake,” Hermione said, sliding one hand down Ron’s neck and perching her chin on his other shoulder. Her hair tickled his ear. “I’ve always wanted to get to know you better.”

Ron swallowed. They’d talked about this, the possibility of introducing someone else and this sounded like maybe it was an overture. He blinked away a vision of being sandwiched between them on a couch, in their bed, two sets of hands holding him and two mouths kissing him.

“I think,” Jason licked the jam off his fork, “I would like that very much.”

Ron felt Hermione’s short intake of breath. Right, he was going to make this happen.

“We’re free Saturday,” he managed, “but you’d have to tell me your favorite type of cake so I could make it.”

Jason tilted his head. Ron traced the movement with his eyes, wishing it was with his hands or his mouth, and fuck, this was wild.

He was at the Ottery St. Catchpole fête for fucks’ sake. This was no place to be mentally undressing a stranger. Well, somewhat stranger. Vague acquaintance?

“You’re so sweet.”

“I, er.” Ron blushed, then soldiered on. He was going to make this happen. “I just want you to feel welcome.”

Hermione kissed his shoulder. “We both do.” She straightened. “I’ll leave you two to discuss recipes. I need another tea.”

Jason glanced down at his cake and then back up at Ron. “I love anything with chocolate, but that’s kind of basic, so if you don’t—”

“How do you feel about Nutella?”

“Oh,” Jason said, “yes, very yes.”

“Raspberries?” Ron was already sketching the cake in his mind. A ganache, fresh berries on top, at least two layers of cake with espresso to deepen the flavor, yes, it was all coming together.

Jason nodded fervently, then dropped his glance to his plate, then back up at Ron. He suddenly seemed shy. “It’s not too, er, much?”

“No,” Ron said, and felt something in his chest expand. “You seem like someone who can appreciate classic but complex flavor combinations. It’s not too much.”

He felt particularly daring at the sudden flash of Jason’s smile, so he bumped his knee against his under the table and was rewarded with another grin.

“Well, I’d hardly like to waste the gold prize winner’s baking talent on something boring.”

Ron pressed his lips together. His face hurt from smiling.

─────── ⎎ ───────

 **To:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
 **From:** just_marauding_around@gmail.com  
 **Date:** 11:53 am, July 25, 2007  
 **Subject:** ur alcohol

hey,

nev gave me your email, hope that’s ok, but i realized i went home with the smirnoff you won in the bottle tombola which was a complete accident and i don’t want you to think i’m the kind of person who steals other people’s alcohol even if you were the one who said it was tiring to carry around so i was actually doing u a favor

harry

҉ 

**To:** just_marauding_around@gmail.com  
 **From:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
 **Date:** 11:57 am, July 25, 2007  
 **Subject:** Re: ur alcohol

Potter,

Your grasp of the grammatical rules of the English language is appalling. :)

I retain ownership of a coconut that you won in the shy coconuts game. “Game,” really. Lobbing a coconut at other coconuts seems to lack any kind of critical skill. You should have been a Chaser with that kind of arm.

Anyway, this means that we are at a stalemate of stolen possessions where each owes the other nothing, unless, of course, you prefer the coconut, in which case I suppose I could return it to you.

Best wishes,

Draco Malfoy

҉ 

**To:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
 **From:** just_marauding_around@gmail.com  
 **Date:** 1:04 pm, July 25, 2007  
 **Subject:** Re: Re: ur alcohol

it’s coconut shy, not shy coconuts, nerd. i don't know if u can act high and mighty about games u tried so hard to splat the rat. also i actually have a strong emotional attachment to that coconut, so i’d really prefer it to a bottle of mass-produced spirit. you could return it to me on the 28 when u come to me and nev’s birthday which starts at 7 at the spoons just around the corner from diagon alley.

҉ 

**To:** just_marauding_around@gmail.com  
 **From:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
 **Date:** 1:13 pm, July 25, 2007  
 **Subject:** Re: Re: Re: ur alcohol

Trust you to become emotionally attached to a hairy fruit. I will bring it to your birthday party. I question your choice of Wetherspoons as a delightful birthday location (I have been learning things, you lout), but I shouldn’t quibble with the birthday human.

Best,  
Draco

P.S. "Splat the Rat" is a traditional fête game that tests the reaction speed of participants. It has historical precedents dating back to the 3rd century, when it was colloquially known as occīdōte mūrem. I can give you a citation, if necessary.

҉ 

**To:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
 **From:** just_marauding_around@gmail.com  
 **Date:** 1:17 pm, July 25, 2007  
 **Subject** : Re: Re: Re: Re: ur alcohol

it was actually nev’s choice, so u can blame him. we’re going dancing after obvs so practice your moves don’t want to let down the honor of slytherin lol bet salazar had some sickkkkk moves

looking forward to seeing u again coconut thief

xx h

҉ 

**To:** mimbulus_fan80@yahoo.com  
 **From:** draconis_xx@hotmail.co.uk  
 **Date:** 1:18 pm, July 25, 2007  
 **Subject:** URGENT HELP IMMEDIATE RESPONSE NEEDED

I NEED YOU TO TEACH ME NON-MAGICAL DANCE STEPS IN THE NEXT TWO DAYS SO I CAN PERFORM THEM PERFECTLY BY SATURDAY !!!!!!!!! ALSO WHAT DOES XX MEAN

─────── ⎎ ───────


	31. “Oh, honey,” Val said.

Tonight was shaping up to be a good evening, Val thought, surveying the dance floor. It was only eleven and it was already full. There would be the drag interlude at midnight, then the new DJ was going to start playing. It was all coming together.

The owner of the magical world’s premiere gay club dashed back into their office, shut the door, and did a little dance of joy. Things were all coming together.

They shook their head, smiled, and readjusted their beret.

Harry had said they were coming tonight, so it was only kind to wear their gift. The glitter was kind of falling off, but it was dark in the club, and it was the thought that counted.

They surveyed the contents of the desk. Maybe just a quick tarot pull.

And. Of course. Of course it would be the Lovers.

Val rolled their eyes, tucked the card inside their bodice, and stepped back into the club.

─────── ⎎ ───────

“Val, it looks amazing,” Harry screamed, folding them into a hug.

“Wait, babe, it’s your birthday?” Val tapped the button. It had once said BIRTHDAY BOY. The boy was scratched out with a sharpie and there was a series of question marks and then the word FUCK.

“Oh, yeah, they gave it to me at Spoons and then Luna ‘fixed’ it, lol,” Harry said. Val laughed.

“And where’s my favorite lesbian?”

“Present,” Luna said and twirled. “I wanted to write Fuck the Gender Binary, but I didn’t get very far. There’s not that much space on the button, but, you know, I tried.” She turned and pouted at Ginny. “I tried.”

“I know you tried,” Ginny said, and kissed her.

“And who else do we have tonight?” Val surveyed the group, recognizing almost everyone except the gorgeous young man Neville had his arm around and the—wait, was that Draco Malfoy?! Val felt a spike of ice run down their spine. They tilted their head.

“Oh, right, so that’s Blaise, Nev’s boyfriend,” Blaise gave a wave, then retreated to Neville’s shoulder— _me too, kid,_ Val thought, _if I had that kind of shoulder to rest on_ — “And this is Draco.”

Draco started when he heard his name. He tore his gaze away from Eric, their goth bartender, who had finally managed to transfigure his shoulder blades into bat wings, which was, as Val had attempted to explain, very cool magic but maybe not the most practical while at work, but, let the kids express themselves. Eric had a genius palate—and never resorted to magical shortcuts, which, Val had realized through experience, made hangovers a thousand times worse. They could afford a few shattered bottles if it kept Eric happy.

“Hello,” Draco said. “Is this your establishment?”

Val fought a laugh. “It is indeed my establishment.”

“It is very,” he paused. Val was sure that an insult was incoming. “Fascinating.”

Oh. So he was a virgin.

In a gay club sense, anyway.

“You haven’t seen anything yet, darling,” Val said with a grin. “Shots?”

─────── ⎎ ───────

Watching Draco was more of a delight than Val had expected. Everything, absolutely everything, that had long ago faded to typical was, filtered through Draco’s face, new and shiny. The drag show had his eyes as wide as saucers. He’d approached Noë Stalgia after the performance and clearly offered some kind of compliment, only to be kissed on the cheek, which turned so pink that you couldn’t even see Noë’s lipstick. Val hid a giggle by swooping below the bar. He was fascinated by the glittering drinks, the swirly straws, the floating fireballs. Val’s favorite was when he’d see someone whose gender performance was clearly not in his wheelhouse—and his mouth would fall open in awe, until he’d realize it was open and snap it shut and whip his head around to make sure no one had noticed. It was kind of sweet, Val thought. Not what they’d expect from a baby Malfoy. He was more like a fawn than a snake.

Val didn’t want to be critical, but that boy had no dance moves. He was more of a flailer. But it was deeply precious that he was trying to keep up with Harry, whose sinuous grace turned heads.

“Having a lovely birthday?” Val asked, pushing a glass of water across the bar to Harry.

After gulping half the glass, Harry said, “Yeah.”

Val made a noise of assent.

They glanced back out across the dance floor.

“The dancing’s been really fun.”

“You’ve certainly brought one of your friends out of his shell.”

Harry laughed. “Nev’s been out of his shell for a while.”

“Oh, no, not him,” Val said, “the Malfoy boy. He’s trying quite hard.”

As they watched, Ginny grabbed his hands, pirouetted and dipped Draco. When he was vertical again, he blinked a few times then threw himself into dancing, as, his eyebrows drawn together, he copied Luna’s Travolta point-and-hip-wiggle.

Val said, “He has the rhythm of a drunk billywig.”

Harry snorted. “He’s not as much of a dick as he was.” They glanced down at their water, then started picking at a cuticle. Val fought the urge to slap their hands. “He’s less prickly. More, er, curious.”

“Curious? Not bigoted?”

Harry’s head shot up. “No,” they said, “I assumed he would be but, well, I don’t know.” They leaned against the bar and slowly rotated the glass. “He, er, came to Conciliatio with Nev, and he’s still on parole, so he’s got to take this non-magical studies class but like, he discovered the internet, and, look, he brought me my coconut back.”

Harry rummaged around in a jacket pocket—kids today would use magic to extend their pockets, Val thought, remembering when they’d had to sneak into non-magical gay clubs, triple-checking for any trace of magic, anything that could out them in another sense. They snapped back to the present as Harry slammed a coconut down on the counter.

“I thought he’d forget,” Harry said. “I won it at the fête but somehow I took home his Smirnoff from the tombola so I emailed him about it because I didn’t want him to think I was the kind of asshole who’d like, steal someone’s more expensive prize, but he said he’d be happy with the coconut but I thought like, no, I liked that coconut and it’s not fair because vodka is way more expensive that a coconut, so it’s not really fair?”

Val raised their eyebrow and waited. It was best to let Harry ramble into the realization that they’d wanted the coconut back as an excuse to see Draco again. That was pretty clear. But Harry never really bothered listening. That was a bit harsh. If they had an idea, it was difficult for others to dislodge it.

Sometimes you just had to figure things out for yourself.

But then sometimes, Val thought, you needed a little help.

“I drew this tonight,” they said, slapping the Lovers down on the bar. Val raised their eyebrows at the coconut, then at the card, then at the coconut again. Surely Harry could follow that.

Harry tilted their head. “I don’t get it.”

“Oh, honey,” Val said. “Finish your water and get back out there.”

Harry gulped the water, stared at the card again, turned from the bar, then swiveled back, grabbed the coconut, shoved it in their pocket, grinned at Val, and disappeared into the crowd.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	32. To complete your registration

⚗ ⚗ ⚗  
 **Department of Potions  
University of Nottingham**

Mr. Draco Malfoy  
The Howes, Otterburn  
Newcastle upon Tyne

August 15, 2007

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

We are pleased to welcome you to the postgraduate course in Potioneering.

We read your application with great interest. Your letter of recommendation from Dr. Longbottom was one of the most glowing we have ever received. We look forward to working with and getting to know you in the coming months.

The details of the course are included in the attached leaflets. To complete your registration, please respond using the enclosed forms and return them by owl before September 1, 2007.

Barrett Nox  
Chair, Department of Potions  
University of Nottingham

[then, in scrawled green ink:]  
 _Draco, Professor Zahra Khan will be establishing her lab this fall, and I would encourage you to reach out to her in the coming weeks. She’s the leading expert on botanical tinctures—we managed to lure her back to the UK from Stanford. She’s available via owl or electronic-mail at khanz@uni.nottingham.edu._  
⚗ ⚗ ⚗

─────── ⎎ ───────

"ANDROMEDA!"

Andy dropped her knitting. Shit, shit, shit, Draco was dying, someone had broken in and attacked him—she got up, then fell over the basket of yarn at her feet—when Draco burst into the room, brandishing a letter.

“I GOT IN I GOT IN,” he yelled, handed her the letter, then bounced around the room.

Andy skimmed the letter and yelped. “Draco!”

He stopped moving and glanced at her. “Er, should I not have?”

“This is wonderful!” She was afraid to move out of the yarn snarl, so she stood still and held her arms out. He looked at her.

“Hug,” she demanded. “I’m trapped.”

He whipped his wand out of his pocket and levitated the yarn away from her feet.

They stood staring at each other for a minute.

“Hug?” Andy asked, suddenly afraid that she’d overstepped. Let him reestablish the boundaries. She wasn’t going to feel bad if he didn’t want one. She wouldn’t. She would be an adult about it all.

Draco bit his bottom lip, but the smile crept out.

“Hug,” he said, put his wand back in his pocket, and embraced her.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	33. “My name is Professor Chang."

Cho Chang straightened the brim of her pointed hat, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The chatter died down instantly.

“Good morning,” she said and strode to the end of the classroom, where Filius used to stand on his pile of books. She looked at them, then turned to face her students. “As many of you know, Professor Flitwick had a heart attack after last night’s welcome feast.” There were hushed murmurs. They already knew this, but fourth years _would_ be dramatic about it.

“My name is Professor Chang, and I will be teaching you Charms until he returns.”

A hand crept into the air. Cho stared at the student for a minute, who looked a bit like Terry Boot, then inclined her head.

“Are you, like, _the_ Cho Chang?”

Cho’s eyebrows drew together. “In what sense?”

“The one who came up with the Licet charms?”

“For computers?” a girl with glasses added.

“And caught the snitch for Ireland in the World Cup?” someone yelled from near the door.

“Did you really invent the bra fitting charm?”

Cho cleared her throat. The noise died down. “Yes,” she said, and allowed herself a small smile at the rustle that swept through the classroom. “Today we’re going to practice one of the most useful charms.”

She touched the brim of her hat, which floated off her head. She snapped and it dropped on the nearest desk. Another wave of whispers. “No, not wingardium leviosa. _Finite_. The universal counter-spell.”

Which, she thought as they fumbled for their wands, should really be one of the first spells they learned. She loved Filius, but charming a pineapple to dance? Levitating feathers? Tickling?

─────── ⎎ ───────

She practically collapsed into the empty seat in the Great Hall. Jesus, was she going to have to become one of those teachers who wore clogs?

_Chang, cushioning charm._

Cho smiled at Cedric’s voice. He’d never left her, not really. He wasn’t a ghost. But at the same time, he wasn’t imaginary. He said things that would never have occurred to her, not with the way her mind worked.

At first, she thought she was losing her mind. St. Mungo’s sent her to Dr. Grimke. Dr. Grimke had stared into her left eye, pulled her right earlobe, tapped her kneecaps, flicking her wand over Cho’s head and casting a bright network of purple runes. Then she grinned, said “It’s all your mind, but in a real way,” and explained how there were veils between worlds and some people lingered and some people could feel those people, and apparently, Cho was just one of those latter people and Cedric was one of the former.

“Some people think it’s a soulmate thing,” Dr. Grimke said, and handed Cho the box of tissues.

She used the whole thing.

_I bet you could come up with a more permanent cushioning charm—team up with that designer with those red shoes you like—_

“Louboutin,” Cho said.

“Er? Who?” Neville glanced at her, then returned to serving himself roast beef. “Louis?”

“Just thinking out loud,” she said and helped herself to some mashed potatoes.

─────── ⎎ ───────

Four weeks later, she was still at Hogwarts. Filius hadn’t died, but he hadn’t gotten better. He was in a ward at Mungo’s that didn’t allow visitors. She sent him chocolates twice a week. That probably wasn’t healthy. But he hated flowers.

“Hey, hey,” Marcus admonished the baby, who’d reached for Cho’s fork. “That’s her fork, not yours.”

“Oh, she can have it,” Cho said. It still weirded her out that first, Marcus was married to Ollie—not because she was homophobic but Marcus had been a violent, monosyllabic cretin during their student days, which, in many ways, was the more confusing second prong of that thought—second, that Marcus had grown into a gentle, brawny man who liked babies and cats and knitting and third, that he was one of the most universally-beloved and crushed-on teachers at Hogwarts.

“Cho,” Marcus said in a gentle voice clearly reserved for idiots. “You can’t give babies forks. They’re pointy. She could stab herself in the eye. Or stab me in the eye.”

Cho narrowed her eyes. “But then she would know it’s dangerous?”

“Let’s do some less dangerous experiential learning first?” Marcus grinned.

“Hm,” she said, then pointed at a bread roll, which sprouted a lionlike head, limbs, and a tail, clambered over to Posie and bared its teeth in a roar. She squealed and tried to grab it.

“A lion, really?”

Cho winked at Ollie, then snapped at the bread lion, which floated into Posie’s hand.

“You’re going to spoil her,” Ollie said, “levitating everything to her. She’ll be lazy.”

Cho snorted. “She has your genes. You’ll wish she was lazy. Imagine when she can walk.”

“Oh my God,” Marcus gasped, his mouth falling open. “She’s going to be a teenager.”

They all looked at the baby, who had crammed the bread lion’s head into her mouth.

“Oh, no, no, don’t grow up,” Marcus mumbled, kissing her head. “No, no, no.”

“It’s not allowed,” Ollie agreed and squeezed one of her pudgy feet.

Cho moved her a finger, and the lion’s tail wrapped around her wrist. Posie gurgled in confusion. “It’s inevitable.”

“Always pessimistic, Chang,” Ollie said with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Was it growing up in Ireland in the 90s?”

“First, focáil leat, and second, I’m realistic.”

_Classy Chang, tell him to fuck off in front of his baby._

“Was that rude?” Marcus half-whispered, half-mouthed, glancing down at his offspring.

Ollie elbowed her.

She shook her head. “Just a little Irish blessing.”

Marcus looked like he was going to ask more, but then Posie started making a choking noise and he was distracted.

“She can’t even, like, talk yet,” Cho said in an undertone.

“He’s just terrified her first word’s will be fuck which would be a a Sign that we are Bad Parents,” Ollie whispered back.

Cho sniggered into her bread. She considered them, and shook her head. “You’re doing good, Ol. Both of you. She’s lucky.”

“Lucky to have Auntie Cho,” Marcus said.

_He has ears like a bat._

“But flatter,” Cho concurred.

_Exactly._

─────── ⎎ ───────


	34. Yours faithfully, Bertram Woodsell

𝔗𝔢𝔪𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔯 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔬𝔫 & 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔳𝔞𝔩𝔢  
Coxwell House, Surrey

27th September, 2007  
Sirius Alphonse Umbertus Lupin, Esq.  
12 Grimmauld Place  
Islington, London, United Kingdom

Dear Mr. Lupin,

I am writing to you to see if you and Dr. Granger had come up with a more concrete plan since we last spoke. Astoria is “willing to do almost anything to get out of the contract”—not, I might add, a legally binding phrase, but my client wanted you to know this in “those exact words, Bertram,” so I transmit them to you and Dr. Granger so that you might understand her feelings about the matter.

I look forward to hearing about your progress. Our office has been unable to unearth further precedents.

Yours faithfully,

𝔅𝔢𝔯𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔪 𝔚𝔬𝔬𝔡𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔩

─────── ⎎ ───────

♚ September 27

Hi Bertie,

Hermione and I have done a bunch of research about this problem and we’re quite sure we’ve come up with a solution, or a solution that we’re 86.7% sure will release them from the contract. Not great odds. 100% would be the best, but, fuck those lawyers. They were really good. In an evil way.

The problem with this realization is that it requires the presence of two other people, i.e., the person your client loves and the person my ward loves. I'm not sure if there’s someone he loves. There is the distinct possibility that we can attempt to undo the enchantment without my ward having another lover (?! true love? The language is shaky here) but I have to do some outreach.

Would you and Astoria be able to meet us sometime next week or the week after?

♚ Sirius

─────── ⎎ ───────

“Good to see you, Draco,” Sirius said. He tilted the whiskey, swirling the melting ice with the amber liquid.

Draco tilted his head. “I don’t remember Andromeda saying we would be having company for dinner.”

“Ah, yeah, well,” Sirius said, shooting a glance at Andromeda’s back, “she didn’t quite know I was coming, either.”

Draco sat down at the table. This was not going according to plan. Sirius wanted to tackle Andy first. Alone.

“Do you have some homework or something to work on before we eat?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I have to write seven feet of parchment by tomorrow.”

“Oh, good, why not hop to that, then.”

“He’s being sarcastic,” Andromeda said, without turning around. “That’s his voice.”

A smile flickered across Draco’s face. “They haven’t assigned parchment since like, the nineties.”

“Oh, you little shit,” Sirius said fondly, “mock the old man.”

“Elderly uncle.”

“Funcle.”

Draco made a gagging sound.

“Charming, darling, bet the boys love it when you do that,” Sirius said and winked. He could be a little shit, too.

Draco’s eyes widened and he stood up so fast his chair fell over. “I, er, emails,” he blurted and fled.

Andromeda turned from the stove. “Really?”

“Crude sexual talk always cleared Narcissa out,” Sirius said blandly. “It was worth a try.”

“I have to keep stirring this damn risotto, but like, say your piece,” Andromeda said. “I assume this isn’t a social call.”

“It is indeed not,” Sirius said with a sigh. He let the front two legs of his chair thud to the earth, then rose and leaned on the counter next to Andy. “Draco is in a fucking mess.”

The spoon stopped. “What? Did he—did someone—”

“Oh, no, not like that, fuck, sorry, should have—”

“You are so fucking dramatic,” Andromeda hissed, stabbing a finger into Sirius’ chest.

“Me, yeah, I’m so dramatic.” He stared down at her finger.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re wearing eyeliner.”

“I came from a podcast interview,” Sirius said, affronted.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Look, it’s like radio, but with the internet. Anyway, this isn’t what I’m trying to talk to you about.”

“Oh, please, my apologies,” Andy said, stirring faster and faster. “Carry on, milord.”

“Funny, because it’s actually Black shit.”

Andy shook her head. “What else could it be?”

“So,” Sirius said, rubbing his chin. Remus liked the stubble, but it was a bit long for him now. But his public. Well, fuck the public. He was lazy. That was the real problem. Right, to the theme. “So Lucius—”

“That fucker.”

“Exactly, that fucker bound Draco in a blood marriage contract.”

The spoon stopped.

“You’re fucking kidding.” Andy was staring at the risotto, not moving.

“Yeah, I wish,” Sirius said.

Andromeda curled her hand into a fist. She pressed the knuckle of her index finger against her lips.

The risotto burst into flames.

“Oh, shit,” Sirius said and leapt back.

Andy stared unblinkingly into the flames. “Not even my parents did that.”

“Hey, uh, Andy, maybe you want to, er, put that out?” Sirius was edging towards his wand on the table.

She held up a finger. “I’m thinking.”

“Well, Hermione and I have been doing some research because Astoria, that’s the younger Greengrass girl who was the er, other party, in said blood marriage contract, she doesn’t exactly want to get married to Draco because she’s a lesbian who wants to get married to er, someone named Susan, so, that’s great, but also not great, because of the whole—”

“Sirius?”

“Er, yes?” His hand closed around his wand.

“Shut up.”

Sirius was about to respond when he realized that might be contradictory to the order. He downed the whiskey. Remus would have been able to explain it better. At least he had a calming voice. And he didn’t really ramble. He was efficient. Sirius bit at his pinky nail.

“I’m going to call for a pizza.”

Andy turned away from the still flaming pot, and Sirius, taking his chance, extinguished it with a quick _Aguamenti._

“Mushrooms and pepperoni ok?”

“Uh, yeah, whatever,” Sirius said. “Artichokes?”

Andy narrowed her eyes. “Artichokes, you pretentious asshole. But fine.” She picked up the phone, dialed from memory, then said, “Hey, Alf. Yeah, we want the usual. But then can you add a small veggie—”

“I don’t want veggie,” Sirius said, “I want pepperoni and artichokes.”

“Uh, sorry, Alf, we want a small veggie with artichokes and pepperoni. Yeah, the usual, and then that one. No small veggie. Yep, delivery, great. Thanks. You have a good night, too.”

She hung the phone up and skewered Sirius with her glare. “You have twenty-three minutes before that pizza gets here, Draco comes back downstairs, and you’ll have to present him with a very good fucking explanation.”

“Can I have another whiskey?”

“You’re going to need it,” Andy said.

─────── ⎎ ───────

 **Notes for Meeting with Woodsell, etc.**  
 ~~⚬ remember to try to be kind to Woodsell because he’s clearly an old bat who lacks research skills~~  
⚬ ✩ ✩ ✩ !!! FIRST, check in with Astoria and Draco !! re: the blood, etc. ✩ ✩ ✩  
⚬ explain research, our theory  
⚬ see if they’re ok to go ahead with this  
⚬ ???!?!!??

⭑ re: the death binding section (refer to the contract here, copy in Woodsell’s possession)  
↳ similarity to case 34a in Evilian’s _Magicae Sanguinis_ (1237)  
↳ Black library copy of _MS_ (printed 1634) annotated with the following:

⚭ ☥ ¬ ⚭ ⚰  
☞ ❦|❦↔🝰 🝆∧🜛∧2🜁∧🜔→¬⚭☥◾

 **THEORY:** (reviewed with ancient runes lecturer, professor of alembics, and the chair in medieval and baroque alchemical studies, and an italian scholar who’s worked on Evilian, but … )  
⚭ ☥ [marriage, life]  
¬ ⚭ ⚰ [not marriage, death]  
☞ [manicule, i.e., note]  
❦|❦ [two hearts separated]  
↔ [if and only if]  
🝰 [day/night — for the duration of one day and one night]  
🝆∧ [oil and]  
🜛∧ [silver and]  
2🜁 [2 air = 2 blood? blood from the pair]  
∧🜔 [and salt — tears? ]  
→ [material implication]  
¬⚭ [not marriage]  
☥ [life]  
◾ [Q.E.D., quod erat demonstrandum (that which was to be demonstrated)]

✩ THIS IS ONLY A THEORY. BUT ??? PROOF???  
⭒ the risk. The risk.

⭑ the if and only if seems to be key to untangling it, in that the two hearts must be separated  
⭑ true of Astoria, but ?

─────── ⎎ ───────


	35. “Yes,” Astoria said. “Please.”

“I don’t think it worked,” Astoria said, fighting to keep the panic from her voice. “I, um—Susan—”

“Astoria?” Bertram’s voice was gravelled. “What’s happening? Do I need to call St. Mungo’s?”

A sob escaped her. “Yes, please. I tried giving Susan the ring and,” she pressed her hand against her mouth, “her eyes have gone all grey and she fell to the floor and—I don’t know what—”

“I’m going to hang up and call them, and then I’m going to call you back. I need you to stay calm and stay with Susan.”

Astoria nodded and then realized he couldn’t see her and choked out, “Ok.”

“Fortis,” he said, and hung up.

Astoria dropped to her knees.

Susan’s head lolled to one side. Astoria swept the hair away from her face. “Please, please, please,” she whispered, over and over, then bent to kiss Susan’s forehead, but when she pressed her lips to Susan’s skin, it burned.

She jerked back.

The impression of her lips remained on Susan’s forehead, the skin disturbed—like the blood had risen or puckered or—Astoria pressed her hands to her mouth.

“No, no, please,” she said, to whom she didn't know.

Susan’s arm twitched. Astoria reached down to stroke it, but wherever she touched Susan, welts bloomed.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no,” she whispered, pressing her hands together and then against her eyes and then together.

Her phone rang. She grabbed it from the table, then dropped it. “Bertram?”

“They’re coming. Just stay calm.”

“I—I can’t touch her,” Astoria sobbed. “It didn't work. She’s going to die.”

The door buzzed. She dropped her phone again, rushed to the door, and opened it. “It’s a blood—” she managed, and then everything went black.

─────── ⎎ ───────

“We’ve misunderstood something,” Astoria heard as she blinked her eyes open.

She was in a hospital bed. Hermione was shuffling through papers, Sirius was pacing, Draco was leaning against the wall, and, strangely, Bertram was sitting next to her, holding her hand.

“Bertie?”

“Oh,” he said and breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re back.”

“Astoria,” Hermione said, shoving the papers at Draco and taking Astoria’s other hand. “I’m so, so, so sorry.” Her eyes were bright with tears.

“Is Susan—”

She couldn’t say it.

“Susan is stable,” Bertram said. “We don’t know if it’s safe for you to see her, though.”

Astoria closed her eyes. The tears seeped out anyway.

“Your parents are on their way from Hong Kong,” Bertram said. Astoria swallowed. “They, er, are taking this more seriously now.”

An ‘er’ in Bertramese was a strongly worded Fuck You, and Astoria squeezed his hand. “Thanks, Bertie.”

“We must have misunderstood part of the counterspell, which meant that the contract was still active when you gave Susan the ring,” Hermione said. Her hand was so cool around Astoria’s. Astoria smiled at her.

“It’s ok, you tried,” she said.

“No,” Hermione said, “We’re going to fix this.”

Astoria nodded but her eyes were so hard to hold open. Maybe it would be easier if she just shut them for a minute. And then—

─────── ⎎ ───────

There was someone humming at the foot of the bed.

Astoria opened one eye, then the other.

It was Draco. She pushed herself up a little and watched him. He had earbuds in and was kind of swaying—dancing, if you were charitable—and humming. He half-pirouetted, then realized she was watching him and cursed, scrabbling at the cord.

“Sorry, I didn’t think I’d wake you,” he said.

She shook her head. “You didn’t.”

“I, er,” he said. “Harry brought me this.” He reached inside the robe and brought out a little black square.

“Harry brought you an iPod?” Astoria turned it over in her hands. “A 3rd gen nano?”

Draco’s eyebrows drew together. “A what?” She handed it back to him.

“You know, this came out like two months ago.”

“This device is homosexual?” He glanced down at it.

Astoria started giggling. Draco was so fucking dumb sometimes. That was unfair. He was still mostly a wizard or whatever the right term for like, old school but _trying._ It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know shit.

He stood on one foot, just like he used to when he wasn’t quite sure, before they’d gotten that out of him, and Astoria’s heart hurt.

“Come here,” she said, sitting up. The bed moved with her. Draco tried to fluff the pillow, but only succeeded in making it more uncomfortable. “Sit.”

She fixed the pillow. Draco perched on the edge of the bed.

“This device was released two months ago. As in, it’s new. It’s a very nice present from Harry.”

Draco studied her face. “Is it?”

“It’s expensive,” she said.

“Harry seems like a generous person.”

“And I’m assuming that they put music on it for you?”

“The lists!”

“Which is a significant investment of time and effort.”

Draco turned it over in his hands. “Harry didn’t say anything about that.”

You could lead a horse to a stream, as Susan would say. She sniffed. Everything was so, so fucked. But all these little pieces had begun to add up to something and that was that there was a fourth heart. Whether it was requited or known or—she fought the urge to shake Draco by the shoulders—he might have killed Susan.

“They said I have to stay here with you,” he said, slipping the iPod back into his robes. “Every time I leave the room, you go back into a coma.”

“Shit,” Astoria said, leaning back against the pillow. “Great.”

“There’s cranberry juice?”

“Cool,” she managed. She closed her eyes.

“Hey,” Draco said a few minutes later. “Want to listen with me?”

She opened one eye. He had his lip drawn between his teeth.

“Ok,” she said, and shifted to one side. “Get in.”

He wedged himself onto the bed.

A golden warmth spread through her. Fucking blood magic. “Ok, don’t take this the wrong way, but I feel better when you’re closer,” she said.

He glanced at her. “You’re not as pale.”

“Come here,” she said, jerking her head.

Draco cleared his throat and shifted towards her. He pressed his shoulder against hers, then his leg, and each place he touched her, the warmth radiated back.

“Shit,” she said. The tears were coming again.

“Oh, no, please,” he said, and shifted to awkwardly wrap one arm around her. She turned her face against his chest and sobbed. “Don’t cry.”

“It’s just,” Astoria mumbled between sobs, “I burn Susan wherever I touch her, and when you touch me, it’s like a golden glow. But I don’t want it.”

“I know,” Draco said, resting his head on top of hers. “It’s fucked.”

“Our parents are fucking—”

“My father is a terrible person,” Draco agreed. “I don’t know if your parents are as much to blame as they were victims of You-Know-Who and my father, the supreme asshole.”

Astoria laughed, then went back to crying.

─────── ⎎ ───────

Draco fell asleep, curled up next to her, as they listened to music.

Astoria slipped the iPod out of his hand and scrolled through the playlists.

_~ sad songs ~_   
_CHEER UP !!_   
_coconut + smirnoff // summer_   
_dance dance dance_   
_dream mood_   
_feeling raw in the time of my life_   
_small house somewhere_   
_things to think to_

He was so, so stupid, she thought, scrolling past _Do You Want To, I Bet You Look Good on The Dancefloor, Let’s Make Love and Listen to Death from Above, Naive, You Only Live Once,_ and fucking _Soul Meets Body._

It was like they hadn’t taught him any kind of subtext analysis at Hogwarts.

Astoria sighed, scrolled to The Postal Service, lifted the earbud from Draco’s ear, and let _Such Great Heights_ wriggle its way into her heart until the ceiling tiles blurred.

─────── ⎎ ───────

“Knock knock,” Lavender said and barged into the room, dragging Harry behind her, as agreed.

Astoria felt Draco’s entire body stiffen. He began edging away from her. She tilted her head and squeezed his hand.

“Hello, darlings,” Lavender trilled. She dropped Harry’s elbow and kissed Astoria on both cheeks. “Well, isn’t this cozy.”

“It’s medical,” Draco blurted, his eyes fixed on Harry. “She gets sick. There’s a blood marriage contract.”

Harry scratched their cheek.

Lavender dragged a chair over to Astoria’s side of the bed. Wrapping her arms around her, Lavender mumbled, “This better fucking work.”

“God, I hope so,” Astoria breathed. “I fucking miss Susan.”

“I bet, babe,” Lavender said, rubbing Astoria’s cheek. “You look a lot better than you did though. You were literally grey the last time I saw you. It was scary and also gross.”

Astoria smirked. “We aim to please.”

Draco and Harry were just staring at each other, Astoria had noticed, casually not staring at them but flicking her glance around the room oh so casually. Casual. Indeed.

Then they both tried to talk at the same time, then lapsed into an awkward silence.

Lavender put her hand to her head, widened her eyes at Astoria, and mouthed, “What the fuck?”

Astoria shook her head, and then said brightly, “It’s been so nice having the iPod, Harry. We’ve spent a lot of time listening to it. It was really thoughtful of you to bring to Draco, and I’ve sort of shoved in and monopolized it. But your playlists are so good.”

“Oh, er, right,” Harry said, rubbing one hand up and down their thigh. “Good. Glad it’s helping.”

“I’ll give it back to you,” Draco said, straining to sit up without dislodging his arm from around Astoria’s shoulders. He was practically vibrating.

“Ah, no,” Harry said. “No need. Please. Keep it. Don’t give it back. It’s a gift.”

“That’s what I told Draco,” Astoria said, “that it was a really thoughtful and special gift that clearly means a lot.”

Was Draco blushing?

This was amazing and terrible, Astoria realized and bit the inside of her cheek.

“You know. It’s just, yeah, music.”

“Music is a very expressive and emotional medium,” Lavender said with a bright smile. “Can I see some of your playlists?”

Draco opened his mouth, tilted his head, closed his mouth, tilted his head a different direction. He took the iPod out of his pocket and then said unconvincingly, “It’s out of battery.”

“Shit, I didn’t give you a charger,” Harry said. “Hold on. Don’t, er, go anywhere.” They held up a finger, then turned and sprinted out of the room.

Astoria pressed her lips together so hard and held her breath otherwise she was definitely going to burst out in hysterics. Lavender had let her face drop into her hands and her shoulders were heaving. She sat back up, blinked and shook her head until the smirk dropped off her face.

“Draco, give it,” she ordered, holding a hand out.

His eyebrows drew together. He handed it over.

Lavender turned it over in her fingers. “Yeah,” she said to Astoria. “That’s why it didn’t fucking work.”

“What?” Draco asked, baring his teeth in a kind of tired grimace.

“This object is like,” Lavender glanced at Astoria. She shrugged. In for a penny, as Susan said. “Fucking radiating love.”

Draco snatched it back. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Malfoy,” Lavender said. “I’m a medium. You can believe me or not, but I know how to read the emotional valences of objects.”

Astoria nodded.

“You must be drunk,” he said, tucking it back into the pocket of his robes.

“It’s nine-fifteen in the morning.”

“I don’t know your life.”

“It would really be a low point in my life if I came to visit Astoria in the hospital at nine in the morning with my other good friend Harry and I was drunk. Just like, think about it, ok?”

“Think about what?” Harry gasped, sliding back into the room.

“Nothing,” Draco almost shouted at the same time Lavender said, “Love.”

Harry looked really confused. “Here.” He thrust a wrapped cord and a charger at Draco. “So you can charge it.”

“Harry, that’s so sweet of you,” Astoria said, since Draco was sitting there like a lump. “Why don’t you show Draco how it works?”

She elbowed him. He slowly got off the bed, which now he seemed loath to leave. She sank back into the pillows, hating how her energy faded almost instantly. Lavender smiled, but it was tight and worried.

“I thought I could paint your nails,” Lavender said. Astoria smiled at her. “I brought you green, pale pink, and a nice ochre since it’s October.”

“You pick,” Astoria said and closed her eyes.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	36. Toujours pur

♚ October 27, 2007

Narcissa,

I hope this owl reaches you, wherever you are. Draco needs you. His future—happiness and quite literally, life—depends on the undoing of this evil marriage contract. Since you were one of the actual adults in the room, your memories might be more important than those of your child and his child bride.

♚ Sirius

─────── ⎎ ───────

♚ November 1, 2007

Narcissa,

Remus says I should write, “I had hoped to hear from you by now.” I’m giving you three more days before I use the Summoning.

Yes, it’s that bad.

Kreacher has preserved hair from all members of the family in a scrapbook, so don’t think you’re safe.

♚ Sirius

─────── ⎎ ───────

[in a jet black envelope, sealed with the Toujours Pur signet ring, the contents written with matte white ink that vanishes as the recipient reads it]

♚ November 4, 2007

Narcissa Black Malfoy Black,

I hereby invoke the right of the paterfamilias of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, summoning you to your rightful home.

Toujours pur.

♚ Sirius Umbertus Alphonse Lupin

[signed with a thumbprint in blood]

─────── ⎎ ───────

“Where is he?” were the first words out of Narcissa’s mouth.

Seconds before, she’d been urging the water taxi man _Vai più veloce_ , because that damn owl with the black envelope was closing in and she wasn’t ready to take Sirius’ word for it that Draco’s life was in danger. Her son would say something if he needed her. But the letter hit her as it fell from the owl’s claws, darkness enveloped her, and now she was struggling against white silk bonds in the middle of a pentagram in Walburga’s sitting room.

Sirius looked shocked. The girl with the big hair—who’d grown into a woman wearing a tweed blazer—was holding a large black tome. Hestia? Hernia? Irrelevant.

“Where is Draco,” she repeated, flattening the questioning tone out of her voice.

Sirius and the woman exchanged glances.

“Where is he,” she ground out.

Sirius sucked his cheeks in. “With Andromeda.” As though that explained something, anything, like he’d be safe with Andromeda, whose own daughter had died—in a battle, fine, but it wasn’t like she was the optimal choice for childcare.

Narcissa glared at him. “So I assume we’ll be going there directly.”

“Hermione Granger,” the tweed woman said, sticking her hand out. Narcissa raised an eyebrow at it, because her hands were currently tied behind her back. “Sorry, didn’t—the key problem, Mrs. Malfoy Black—”

“Technically it’s Ms. Black,” Narcissa said, hating herself before the words were out of her mouth. But any small error might compromise Draco’s life—if what Sirius had written had any ounce of truth in it, that is.

“Ms. Black, yes, lovely, so, we’ve been working on ways to release Draco and Astoria from the blood marriage contract,” she said, gesturing towards a levitating blackboard covered with runes and alchemical symbols.

“Which you and your fuckwit husband came up with,” Sirius interjected.

Narcissa exhaled through her nose. “We didn’t _come up_ with it Sirius; the contract has existed in one form or another for at least five hundred years, which you’d know if you read your Evilian or used any part of your brain instead of inhaling that werewolf’s dick when we were at school.”

“Don’t insult my husband,” Sirius snapped.

“I didn’t insult him. He is a werewolf.”

“You said it in a nasty way.”

“It was a perfectly reasonable recounting of the events that occurred while you were at Hogwarts.”

“It was not, you uptight bi—”

Hermione coughed. Sirius stalked away, towards the window. Good.

“The thing that matters,” she said, “is undoing this spell now. Astoria is severely ill, and Draco can’t leave her side.”

“Is he ill?”

Sirius’ glanced back. “Yes.”

“There is the possibility that he might become ill, if he also attempts to pursue someone who is not Astoria,” Hermione said, looking uncomfortable. Sirius made a noise of disgust. “I can’t lie to her!”

“As my son is still healthy, then, I consider this an entirely inappropriate use of the Summoning.”

“It’s not,” Sirius said and stalked across the room. He glared down at her.

“Are you wearing eyeliner?”

“That is irrelevant,” Sirius yelled.

Narcissa sighed. “As much as I’ve loved this chat, the Ministry’s trace should be plottable by about now, so maybe you could take me to my son before they take me to Azkaban.”

Hermione and Sirius exchanged a look.

“Fine,” Sirius said. Her bonds still tied, he jerked her to her feet, held out one hand to Hermione, who shrunk the blackboard and the tome and crammed them into her pockets. Narcissa felt the familiar jerk of Apparition.

─────── ⎎ ───────

“Draco!” she yelled immediately, hoping her son would respond. His face appeared in the cottage window and she lurched towards him, but, her fucking feet were tied, so she fell over.

Sirius snorted.

“Va te faire enculer,” Narcissa spat and struggled to right herself. The ropes binding her legs suddenly released and she glanced around.

“It’s not like she can get very far,” Hermione said with a shrug. “She is wearing stilettos and we’re in a craggy grassland.” Sirius put his hand to his temples.

The girl wasn’t wrong, Narcissa thought with irritation as she stood. She hesitated, then kicked her shoes off and ran towards the house.

Draco was in the window, but he was shaking his head rapidly.

At ten feet away from the cottage, she was thrown back suddenly. The ghostly outlines of ward runes floated in the air for a moment.

“Mère,” Draco yelled out the window, “there’s a ward.”

Scrambling to her feet for the second time in less than five minutes, Narcissa sighed. “Yes, darling, I can see that.”

“Sorry,” he said. “This window sticks.”

She crossed her arms and squinted at him. He didn’t look ill. His hair looked atrocious, of course, and it seemed like he’d put on weight, but Lucius had become stockier in his mid-twenties so it was probably genetic.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she said with a jerk of her head. “How are you? What’s going on?”

“Er,” he said, glancing back into the room.

Narcissa cleared her throat. She’d broken him of using filler language by age five. “Look,” she said, turning to Sirius and Hermione, “Can you just—” she waved a hand, “as a Muggle from television would say, Give us some space.”

“Non-magical person,” Hermione said.

“Yes, fine,” Narcissa said, shooing them away. She turned her attention back to Draco. “What’s going on?”

Draco pulled at the collar of his robes. “Hermione found what might be a counterspell, but it didn’t work because Astoria gave Susan a ring and now they’re both sick.”

Narcisssa swallowed the urge to ask about this Susan, because, irritating though it was that Astoria had turned out to be a lesbian insofar as she couldn’t marry Draco, she was a sweet girl.

Nothing was working out as Lucius had assured her it would.

“Is it the counterspell from Evilian in the Black library?”

“Yes,” Hermione yelled. Oh, good, they were listening. Narcissa shot her a quelling glare, but she whipped out the blackboard and the tome and rushed over, talking through her theories.

“Wait,” Narcissa said, “you translated air as blood?”

“The humors?”

Narcissa shook her head. “You think I’d cut my son in the heart?”

Draco hadn’t wanted to do it. Astoria had looked up from her doll and smiled. But Draco had pitched a fit, a real and proper fit with a scarlet face and spittle flying everywhere until Lucius had yanked him out of the room. She’d never asked about what happened in the hallway.

But when they came back, Draco bestowed a kiss upon his bride and the pact was sealed.

“It’s air,” she said. “Shared breath. A kiss.”

Hermione’s eyes widened.

“There is blood, of course, but it was a pinprick,” Narcissa said. “Just enough to dampen the salt. That’s why there’s a two—blood _and_ air. ”

“So it’s the inverse of the initial ceremony?”

“I assume so,” Narcissa said, running her finger over the alchemical runes. “Well, not entirely. I think it’s an elongated, inverted version of the original contract ceremony. They didn’t want to make it easy to break.”

“So what do we have to do?” Hermione asked, pen at the ready.

“We’ll need a silver bowl, some oil—”

“Any particular kind?”

Narcissa shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

Sirius’ mouth was a hard line. “I’ll go ask Andy what she’s got.”

Narcissa blinked. She’d forgotten this was Andromeda’s house. How was it that Andromeda could see her son and she couldn’t? Lucius had fucked everything up. Everything.

“And the salt!” she yelled after Sirius. He gave her a two-fingered salute. “Charming.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Anything else?”

Narcissa pressed her fingers to her temples. The ceremonial room at the Manor flickered in and out of her memories. “It—they’re going to have to stay together for a day and a night,” she said, remembering Carteret’s intonations.

“Who is?” Hermione asked.

“Draco and Astoria,” she said. “But they have to—it was supposed to work as a last attempt to make the pair fall in love—sequestering them away, sharing each other’s breath, with the hope that they might realize that the other person wouldn’t be so bad to marry.”

Narcissa pressed her nails into her palm. Her mother had said it wasn’t worth the struggle—the memories of Nils would fade—better to avoid subjecting the family to the humiliation of a counter ritual she would surely fail, anyway. She stared at the grass. Her toes were numb. Hermione noticed her glance and summoned her shoes. Narcissa slipped them back on, heedless of the dirt and grass.

“You have to have someone else to hold on to,” she said at last.

“Physically?”

Narcissa shook her head. “In your mind. So you remember why it’s worth it.”

She turned to Hermione, who had one edge of her lip drawn between her teeth. Suddenly, Narcissa leaned forward and grabbed the other woman’s forearms. “You have to be sure they both have someone else in mind. It can’t be an abstract idea, of finding someone else you love, or the magic twists that fantasy into the person in front of you.”

She took a shaky breath. “Does Draco love someone?”

Hermione’s eyes were a clear, dark brown. She blinked slowly, then glanced at the cottage. “I’m not sure if he knows.”

“You have to tell him it’s important—” Narcissa’s voice broke, “even if he thinks there’s no chance of it being requited; it doesn’t have to be practical or—but he has to keep that person in his mind.”

Hermione nodded. Narcissa’s hands dropped to her sides.

“You can’t stay out here all night,” Hermione said.

“She won’t have to,” a rough voice said.

It was the aurors, Narcissa knew, and turned. “I’ll go quietly, just let me—”

The man who stood there, arms crossed, wore the auror uniform. His voice didn’t sound the same, but his eyes were the same piercing grey.

She stepped back.

“Otto,” Hermione said. Narcissa’s heart stopped. It was a mistake, in the twilight, not every bearded man with a harsh gaze—but when he took her by the elbow, the flush that spread through her body proved it. “Can we just have another twenty-four hours so she can know what—er, happens with the contract?”

“We’ll be in the potting shed,” he rumbled. “Come along, Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Ms. Black,” Narcissa said. “I would expect an auror to know that Azkaban dissolves marriage bonds.”

“Ms. Black,” he said, wrapping his hand around her wrist, “and I will be in the shed.”

─────── ⎎ ───────


	37. Out in Science

**Out in Science: LGTBQIA+ Scientists Tell Their Stories**  
Tegyd John, _The British Journal of Magical Sciences,_ December 12, 2007

The snow-capped peaks of the Peeshti Skali Dragon Sanctuary in Bulgaria tower over us, but they fade into mere hills when seen from the back of a dragon. Charlie Weasley, head of the British scientists stationed at the international research center, insists that it’s the only way to see the region—or to understand how dragons understand the world.

“For years, there’s been debate among the animal rights community whether it’s appropriate to ride dragons,” he says, throwing a chunk of meat in a corral. “But since dragons don’t speak human, and we haven’t unraveled the finer details of the korak-roar, eagle moan, or Farnese shriek, human scientists have few methods of delving into dragon psychology. Once you see things from their perspective, their behavior starts making more sense.”

But this article isn’t about dragon behavior—it’s about humans. Weasley, who turned 35 on the day of this interview, has identified as asexual since he learned about it at age 25.

“I never really understood why my brothers and sister were so obsessed with other people, when there are dragons in the world.” He paused here and stared at Norberta, the current matriarch of one of the subpacks. “School proms were … fun, I guess, because dancing is fun, but putting your tongue in someone else’s mouth seemed kinda weird. But when I had to Polyjuice into someone else during the war—” Weasley won’t reveal whom—“I realized that other people had all these sexual urges and desires like thrumming through their bodies. Which was like, cool to experience for a couple of hours but,” he laughed, and concluded, “How could you ever get anything done?”

We sat down over beers and Ljutenica, an aubergine-tomato paste, spread on bread and topped with cheese, to discuss his sexuality.

“There wasn’t much time for introspection during the war, but I spent some time in London and hashing stuff out with Harry, who was working towards understanding their gender identity, and I realized I was asexual.”

According to Merriam-Webster, asexuality, as it relates to humans, is “not having sexual feelings toward others: not experiencing sexual desire or attraction.” Weasley says this captures his experiences.

“It’s just never been something I either felt, or was interested in. I tried sex a few times.” He shrugged. “It was fine, but it seems like something other people get more out of. People who are asexual have a wide variety of experiences, of course. Some people don’t like sex or the idea of it. Other people are more like me, where it’s kind of on par with flossing. It’s ok, but I’m not going to seek it out.”

He sips his beer. “Actually, that’s a terrible metaphor, because flossing is good for your teeth and kind of necessary. At least occasionally. Tell your readers to floss. Having sex isn’t important like flossing is.” He takes a bite of the bread, then his eyes light up. “Have you ever flossed a dragon’s teeth? We have to buy special floss from Norway.”

Since this (sadly) isn’t an interview about dragons, we dove to the heart of this series: What’s it like being out as asexual in the scientific world? "Scientists are chill people,” he said, clearly still thinking about the floss, which he ran off and returned with (it’s three inches in diameter, folks, not something you can buy at your local Boots).

“No one really cares, here, unless they’re trying to seduce you because a lot of scientists think field stations are orgy central. Which, yeah, maybe for some people, and that’s great. Which is maybe why I find it helpful to be so out. Like, yeah, come to Bulgaria, but don’t try to seduce me—it’s a waste of time. That’s why I made this jacket,” he says, showing me the back of his leather jacket, covered in a giant patch with horizontal black, white, grey, and purple stripes. “Ace pride! Plus, since all pride flags have special protective spells woven into the fabric, it’s great for working with my flame-producing colleagues.”

By colleagues he means the dragons. Asked for advice to give to our readers, Weasley mused for a few moments, then grinned and said, “It’s great! You can really focus on what you’re into—whether that’s international trade law, making ice cream, embroidery, or, the best thing in the entire world, dragons!”

─────── ⎎ ───────


	38. “Don’t ruin the table,” Remus groused.

The timer broke the comfortable Sunday morning silence reigning around the dining room table. Remus jerked and dropped his pen.

“The BABY,” Harry shouted as Sirius leapt up, “is COOKED!”

“One baked child coming up,” Sirius said with a cackle.

The Dutch baby swayed as Sirius levitated it towards the table. Remus made a noise in the back of his throat, then summoned a trivet and slid it under the cast iron skillet.

“Don’t ruin the table,” he groused.

“When I think of all the times you’ve ruined me on this table,” Sirius said, sliding his hands down Remus’ neck. Harry groaned and covered their eyes.

Remus kissed Sirius’ hand perfunctorily, then said, “I believe you need to dissect the child so we can indulge in a spot of light cannibalism.”

“Ah, yes, yes,” Sirius said. “Endlessly distracting, you are, Moony. I hold you entirely responsible for the Troll mark I received in the Divination O.W.L.”

Remus nodded and sipped his coffee. “We’ve heard this one before,” he said to Harry, who was busy buttering their slice of Dutch baby. “I ruined his academic career with my cheekbones, blah, blah. Didn’t stop you from figuring out the highly advanced Magic needed for the Animagus transformation, though, did it?”

“Darling,” Sirius said, “that was _for_ you. That’s entirely different.”

“Anyway,” Harry interrupted, “I was thinking about Christmas this year and wondering what you were doing. Wasn’t sure if I wanted to commit to the Weasleys for the entire holiday period.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow at Remus. Fine, he owed him an ice cream, because Harry did bring up Christmas. _But would they be brave enough to ask for what they really wanted?_ Remus wondered.

“Well,” Sirius said, “we’re going to have a quiet Christmas Eve, just me and Remus and some of our presents—”

“Do not want to know,” Harry interrupted. They crammed a gigantic piece into their mouth.

“You’re going to choke,” Remus said. “Smaller bites.”

“Oh my god, I’m not a child,” Harry said around the gigantic mouthful of food.

“Mhm,” Remus said, returning to the crossword. “Consider chewing, because I’m the only one who knows the Heimlich maneuver here, and I am very invested in this crossword right now.”

“And then for Christmas dinner, we were going to have Andromeda and Draco over, because he’s allowed to come to Grimmauld. Kreacher, of course. I think Ot—er, Nils, right—mentioned that he’s working on an extension of Narcissa’s probationary perimeter, but,” Sirius shrugged, "it wouldn’t be a great tragedy if it were just the five of us. Or six, if you wanted to come.”

Harry looked at the ceiling for a minute, then said, “Yeah, that might be nice.”

“Great,” Sirius said. “I think it will be really nice. Toast to the end of the whole marriage contract thing.”

"Oh, yeah," Harry said, as though this hadn't occurred to him. "Cool."

Sirius nudged Remus’ thigh under the table. Remus nudged him back.

─────── ⎎ ───────

“That was delicious,” Andy said, leaning back in her chair with a small moan. “I don’t think I can move.”

“Good,” Kreacher said ominously. Andy wrinkled her nose at him. “Now you will lose at charades.”

Remus laughed.

“Only you, Kreacher,” Sirius said, “would turn a compliment on your cooking into some kind of threat.”

Kreacher grinned, then snapped his fingers to vanish the plates.

“I might have had another piece of goose,” Harry said in protest. Kreacher shook his head. Harry pouted for a minute, then picked up a cracker. “Draco?”

Remus couldn’t avoid Sirius’ gloating expression. Only opening crackers with one other person was not a very obvious mode of flirting, and Remus wished he’d spent more time trying to teach Harry how to express their intentions.

“Er,” Draco said, glancing at the candles that separated them across the table. “We set that last one on fire, I don’t know if it’s—”

“Right,” Harry said and put it back down on the table. Then they sprang up, cracker in hand, and said, “I’ll come sit next to you and it won’t explode.”

Andy looked at the ceiling and scratched her neck.

“Charades,” Kreacher insisted. “We must play charades now. It is tradition.”

“Alright, alright, fine,” Sirius said. “Charades. How about all the adults go into the study and write down some options—”

“No tv shows from the 1970s!” Harry insisted.

“As long as you don’t expect us to understand your millennial slang,” Remus said with a sigh.

“And Kreacher can’t put in any Black family trivia,” Draco said suddenly. “It’s impossible to mime the Great Division of the 1878 Railroad Wand Incident.”

Ah, last year still rankled, Remus thought with a smirk, remembering how he and Andy had carried the day against the three of them. Kreacher muttered in discontent, but said, “Fine,” and marched into the study.

It was, of course, just a ruse. Remus attempted to concentrate on writing down some responses on the gilt-edged slips Kreacher ordered engraved with _Lupin Family Charades, Christmas 2007._ Sirius wasn’t even pretending to work and had his ear pressed against the door.

“Are you using an Extendable Ear?” Remus realized, snapping his fingers at his husband.

“No,” Sirius protested and vanished something.

“Give them a minute of privacy,” Andy said as she poured herself a whiskey.

“They haven’t pulled the cracker yet.” Kreacher folded one of his responses and dropped it in the crystal punch bowl. Sirius raised his eyebrows and nodded at Andy and Remus, as though this indicated that his, or Kreacher’s, behavior was somehow reasonable.

“Is that—” Remus snatched Kreacher’s latest offering out.

 _The Great Division of the 1878 Railroad Wand Incident_ appeared in Kreacher’s spiky handwriting.

Kreacher grinned. “It is the book of the same title, published in 1985 by Professor J. P. Miles of the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee, Magical Division, and put out by the Oxford University Press.”

“Not in the spirit of the request,” Remus said. Andromeda raised her eyebrows at it and it disintegrated into ash.

Kreacher grumbled.

“Why don’t you do something from that American show you watch with the er, roses, or—” Sirius waved his hand in the air.

“Ah, yes,” Kreacher said, “ _The Bachelor_ is a popular culture icon. An ideal suggestion, Mr. Lupin.”

“No names, though,” Remus insisted. “No one else watches it.”

Kreacher scowled.

“Oh my God,” Sirius said, shifting from foot to foot. “Do you think they’ve kissed yet?”

Andy snorted. “Knowing them, no. They’ve probably set fire to the cracker or Harry fell off the bench or Draco suddenly lost all powers of speech and can only blink in Morse code or something.” She considered her whiskey and shook her head.

There was a bang from the dining room. Sirius jumped up.

Then there was another one.

Remus folded his latest slip—Schiller’s _Wallenstein_ —and calmly said, “I think that means we might investigate.”

Sirius bolted out of the room, Kreacher hot on his tail. Andy and Remus followed at a clip.

The dining room was filled with purple smoke. Harry stumbled out of the cloud, dragging Draco by the hand, and choked, “It just went off.”

“Who knows,” Draco, whose eyes were slightly glazed and whose hair was tousled, supplied.

“I, er, don’t really have the energy for charades,” Harry rambled, “I think the smoke went to my brain, maybe I’ll just go sit in the library for a minute.” Draco nodded several times, and then Harry dragged him down the hallway.

Remus turned to the other three. “Which of you was responsible for this?”

Andy looked at her whiskey. Kreacher adjusted his bowtie. Sirius picked at a cuticle.

“Oh, you all were,” Remus said. “I see.” He waved his wand and dispersed the purple smoke. “And what kind of a charm was it?”

“Just, you know,” Sirius said. “A little modified love potion.”

“A what?” Remus asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Sirius said, holding his hands up. “One of those super ethical Vane ones, where it only works if there’s already, emotions, or whatever.”

“Sirius modified it to combust and release once the level of sexual tension was ratched up to a nine,” Andy said nonchalantly.

“And how, exactly, do you calculate that?”

Sirius scratched the back of his neck.

“Sirius?”

“It’s just some Arithmancy,” he said. “Modified with a calculating charm and a nanoparticle cloud, based on one of Chang’s latest articles—”

“And you go around telling people that I ruined your O.W.L.s!” Remus gasped.

Andy burst out laughing. “He what?!”

Sirius shrugged. “It’s not hard to reconfigure magical objects.”

“The paterfamilias has always been talented,” Kreacher intoned, “and I am sworn to carry out his wishes.”

“You’re not, though,” Sirius said, holding up a finger to Kreacher, “I specifically freed you and gave you a very good pension because you’re not beholden to me at all, but you were the one who wanted to live at the bottom of the garden—”

Kreacher’s eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, no, no, not like that, I didn't mean it like that,” Sirius wailed and dropped to his knees. “You’re part of the family, Kreacher.” He threw his arms around Kreacher and hugged him tightly. There was a sniff.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know what you’re doing, Kreacher, and I will not be distracted from my interrogation.”

Kreacher glared at Remus from over Sirius’ shoulder. “You should respect the paterfamilias. He knows what is best for the House.”

Andy shrugged. “You do have to admit that it worked,” she said. “They’re probably making out in the library right now. Finally.”

“Which would mean that you owe me an ice cream and five Galleons, Dr. Lupin,” Sirius said as he stood, wiping his tears away.

“You threw the competition,” Remus argued, “through your unlawful use of extraneous magic that was designed to push events in a certain direction, so I think you’ll find that actually, you owe me the ice cream and the five Galleons.”

“Charades?” Kreacher asked hopefully.

─────── ⎎ ───────


	39. Resolutions, 2008

⩥ find a tufted grackle  
⩥ marry ginny  
⩥ ask draco re: eyebrow potions  
⩥ deep clean quibbler presses  
⩥ consider non-humanoid magical rights more often  


─────── ⎎ ───────

✿ keep crystal ball cleaner  
✿ visit the graveyard more often ♡  
✿ tell the truth more often  
✿ organize hair accoutrements  
✿ apply for divination profs?!  
✿ go dancing once a month ♡ ♡ ♡  


─────── ⎎ ───────

￫ submit 3 articles to journals  
￫ serve on 1 committee at university  
￫ serve on 1 committee on national professional org.  
￫ finalize BAME student mentorship program grant proposal, form committee of students, etc.  
￫ FINISH THE BOOK  
￫ plan wedding?!  
￫ introduce jason to the weasleys + my parents  
￫ date night, once a week ￫ a priority  
￫ actually get to inbox zero  
￫ formulate contract counter ritual into article for publication (anonymized, ofc)  
￫ clean out hall closet  
￫ eat at least 1 fruit per day  


─────── ⎎ ───────

☠ ENSURE THAT THE BLACK FAMILY PATERFAMILIAS REMAINS CONTENT  
☠ WEEKLY UPDATES OF UK BACHELOR/BACHELORETTE FACEBOOK PAGE  


─────── ⎎ ───────

⤷ Propose to Neville  
⤷ Change towels + sheets once a week  
⤷ Go back to therapy  


─────── ⎎ ───────

◼Expand range of wedding cakes offered  
◼Get Greg to hire an assistant  
◼Buy out the silent partners in Larunda  
◼Plan spring recipes/menus  
◼Reconfigure hiring process for apprentice bakers  
◼Hogwarts internships?!  
◼Tell Skeeter to fuck off with the vampire angle  
◼Commit to a signature scent  
~~◼Tell Greg how you feel~~  


─────── ⎎ ───────

⧽ charms curriculum revamp: start with 1st years (Fall 2008, Hogwarts Class of 2016), continue developing new coursework as they move through  
⧽ figure out patent for the desire particle accelerator (keep sirius, draco, romilda in the loop)  
⧽ get back into flying twice a week  
⧽ visit home once a month  


─────── ⎎ ───────

⟡ Apply to MoM jobs (Aurors, Unspeakables) to move back to UK by mid-2008  
⟡ Complete Legilimens certification coursework at MACUSA  
⟡ Come out (esp. to L)  


─────── ⎎ ───────

﹡take up boxing w/ florian  
﹡start learning spanish  
﹡get king sized bed  
﹡tell mum + dad  
﹡make sure h. eats a fruit a day  
﹡save for a trip to australia  


─────── ⎎ ───────

⋅ plan wedding (!!!!)  
⋅ don’t tell susan about the dress  
⋅ bridesmaids: lavender, hermione (??), daphne  
⋅ color scheme: cream, ~~emerald~~ aqua/teal, silver accents  
⋅ cakes: lemon buttercream with lemon curd, donut cake/tower/wall (too much??)  
⋅ ask bertie if he’ll walk me down the aisle  
⋅ lol this is just wedding ideas oh well  
⋅ write a bunch of articles yay career  
⋅ get susan out of the greenhouse on friday nights  


─────── ⎎ ───────

☇ figure out if mood rings are like real/magical  
☇ FINISH THE BOOK + FIND A PUBLISHER  
☇ Conciliatio: website, internship program, hire another staff member, rethink mission statement, draft new goals for 2008, partnership with the Quibbler, person of magical heritage (POMH?!) support group with florian, diagon alley pride parade  
☇ DRACO ☆✰⭒⭑✯ just find out everything ❣  


─────── ⎎ ───────

⧫ Finish preparatory postgraduate coursework  
⧫ July 2008: Potioneers’ Invigilated Gamuts  
⧫ Complete monthly meetings with Hesperide  
⧫ Write a letter to Father  
⧫ Visit Mere once a week  
⧫ Complete internship with Romilda  
⧫ Draft, submit fieldwork grant proposal  
⧫ Magical plant database  
⧫ Get more involved with the library  
⧫ Figure out what label feels right (?)  
❤ hjp  


─────── ⎎ ───────

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please support the author by clicking on the kudos button and leaving a comment below! ♥


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